


The Traveller

by TheWaylandSmith



Series: The Wandering Devil [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Character Death, Complete, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Dark Fantasy, Death, Dimensional Travel, Fae & Fairies, Fantasy, Magic-Users, Parallel Universes, Shapeshifter, Sidhe, dragon - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-05 17:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10313612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWaylandSmith/pseuds/TheWaylandSmith
Summary: Sequel to 'To Play the Devil'. Harry and Tom left our world behind and found themselves in a world filled with the night-time fears of mankind. The washerwomen guard the fords; reapers walk the noon-day fields, and the Gentry are riding. Worst of all, Death himself has taken an interest in them, and he has a plan. Enter a land of fairies, enchantment and fear.





	1. Danse Macabre

**Author's Note:**

> Summary of To Play the Devil
> 
> Harry lost the second war. He was unable to destroy the horcrux within himself as Snape had died at the Battle of Seven Potters and left no information on the course events were supposed to take. Instead Harry cut a deal with Voldemort, unbeknownst to his friends. Harry made an unbreakable vow with Voldemort which restricted their actions against one another, and prevented Voldemort from seeking to conqueror or destroy (en masse) those outside wizarding Britain's borders. For his part Harry was unable to seek a way to destroy Voldemort and, preserved as a horcrux, was doomed to live on unaging now that he had reached maturity.
> 
> Voldemort was left with a kingdom to rule and immortality. The resistance fled into exile and Harry hid himself from friends and enemies alike. As time passed Voldemort's old followers slowly died and he was left without support for a stagnant regime, and without the will to maintain a country he had lost interest in.
> 
> By the middle of the twenty-second century Voldemort had been reduced to a political figurehead, though he still wielded great personal power. The elderly Draco Malfoy was head of an aggressively expansionist wizarding Britain and was fostering the ill-feeling between France and Britain to bring about a war between the two. As part of a plan to separate France from potential allies in Germany and destroy them. if possible, he persuaded Voldemort (and forced Harry) to undertake a mission to help the ruler of the principality of Stuttgart. The mission was a trap. Malfoy intended that his allies in Germany should use Harry and Voldemort as sacrifices to open a Hell-gate and unleash a daemonic host upon the city of Stuttgart and then all of central Europe whilst he and his goblin allies crushed the French in a pincer movement.
> 
> Malfoy's plans were foiled, largely by chance. Harry and Voldemort were sent on a suicide mission to kill Malfoy in exchange for a variety of promises. They in turn planned to use the opportunity to fake their own deaths and gain access to the Veil in the Department of Mysteries, which Voldemort had discovered could be manipulated to enable inter-dimensional travel. After eliminating Malfoy they put the plan into action and escaped through the Veil …

**Danse Macabre**

Figures weave and spin in dance through a high arched room covered in mirrors to the music of a single fiddle and pipe. A tree, half gold, half black, towers over them dripping wax from ancient candles which sit on its twisted branches, burning with shadows.

Yesteryear's leaves carpet the floor swirling around the dancers in whirling eddies. The lady of the house, is a tall, thin woman with sharp blue eyes like pins and light, loose hair bound with a crown of feathers. She sits above it all on a burnished throne fingers twitching as if impatient to be about some business. The Lady nods to a maiden, who wears a dress of moonlight and clouds; the maiden curtsies before joining the dance. A gentleman in a ragged coat leads her to join the dance.

Light sparkles in the mirrors, and the dancers merge together. A man with skin covered in curling flames spins cheek to cheek with something robed in mist and shadow. The music rises, faster and faster. A lithe woman, covered in downy iridescent plumage twirls backwards and forwards.

The wind whispers through the chamber. Darkness falls over the tree. The candles burn high, filling the hall with shadows. The mirrors ripple and through one steps a figure dressed in monkish robes. His head is bare, his hands are folded behind his back.

The lady of the house rises and bows, 'Welcome. Join us.'

'I dance only once dance.'

The Lady claps her hands, the music changes.


	2. Chapter 2

The road was a streak of whitewash across the landscape which appeared as flat as a pancake for miles around the low hill where the two travellers were resting. They sat in the lee of a tall, dark menhir, just to one side of the long, straight track. A small fire crackled in front of them slowly cooking a lean rabbit. A second lay to one side, waiting for its turn. The ground was covered in thick, purple heather; here and there clumps of gorse, speckled with yellow flowers broke the pattern; occasionally, in places such as the low hill the heather gave way to tough grasses which barely covered the grey, sandy soil and in such places, grew handfuls of tall pines.

The road and skies were empty, save for the occasional bird soaring high above. Now and then the younger traveller appeared to consider something on the horizon, but he kept whatever it was to himself. The plains were less barren than they appeared: the heather hid small streams, low valleys and deep, black pools of water.

They had been walking for almost a week and had passed no-one. The days had been blue and cloudless, save for one when a storm had rolled over the plain. Dark clouds, towering like cities had raced across the sky, crackling with thunder and pink lightning. The rain had washed away all footprints from the dusty track, but the following day they had found the tracks of a large party, travelling with horses and wagons. They had hurried on trying to catch up, but there had been no further sign of life since then, three days before.

The elder of the two, a tall man with hooded eyes and hawkish features tested the meat before nodding, more to himself than to his companion: a young man with green eyes, black hair and a deep scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. The elder pointed a long, pale-grey wand of elder wood at the rabbit and with a flick of his wrist it fell in half.

'Heads or tails?'

'Heads. You're finding it easier again then?' The younger murmured.

'Yes. I theorise that the world is acclimatising to us, or vice versa,' the elder replied. 'Though,' he added ruefully, 'I imagine it will be a while before conjuration is possible, if at all.'

'You didn't mention the … acclimatisation before we began. Any other little surprises in store do you imagine?'

'A whole world of them. It is probably for the best if we keep a low profile. Who knows what might be watching?'

'Out here? A few grasshoppers and a bunny or two.'

The elder ignored him, busying himself with eating. There was a moment's silence and the younger man followed suit. The rabbit was devoured until there were only bones left which were thrown into a pit the younger had dug for the guts and the head itself.

'We could try using _engorgio_ again,' the elder mused, looking at the second, smaller rabbit they had caught.

'I don't think it's going to work,' the other said, 'there just wasn't any …' he searched for the right word for a moment, 'catch to it. Nothing to work with.'

'It does not hurt to try.'

'No, but skin and cook it first.'

The elder nodded and muttered an incantation, strips of fur and skin peeled themselves away from the rabbit's corpse. He gave a flick of his wand and it rose into the air, turning lazily in circles. Another flick and its intestines flowed out of its stomach leaving the flesh whole. He plucked it out of the air before skewering it on the pine branch which was serving as a spit, and sat back.

'I do not think that I realised quite how much I would miss vegetables when we came here,' he remarked, adding, 'or chocolate biscuits.' There was no reply and he half turned to look at his companion who was standing at the edge of the hill, looking down across the plain in the fading evening light. 'Much to see, Boy?' He asked, poking the rabbit round.

'I … I am not sure. I thought I glimpsed a wagon, or a caravan, but it may just have been a shadow. I can't be sure,' the younger one said, turning back from the road and running a hand through his messy, black hair.

'If it is there we should catch it tomorrow. We will start early. I need little sleep.'

'That's old age for you,' he sat down, closing his eyes and leaning back against the rock.

The wind rustled the grasses and the man cooking the rabbit looked from side to side warily. He kept his wand arm free, holding the thin stick like a knife, ready to lash out at a moment notice. When nothing appeared he relaxed marginally.

His companion sat bolt upright a moment later, as if stung, his eyes wild, 'Do you hear them?'

'What are you talking about? It's just the wind in the grass,' the elder said coolly, though he held his wand ready once more.

'I can hear their voices, they're calling,' he patted the ground beside him, searching for his own wand. He brought it up a moment later in his right hand and to his surprise, a small black stone in his left. 'Look at this, I'd swear it didn't come from here. I mean what type of stone is that? Obsidian?' He said, apparently forgetting the voices of a moment before.

'It is probably just an old button, Boy. There are more important things to worry about. Another storm is coming.'

'No, it has got marks on it,' the younger said, turning it over in his hand, 'a circle, a triangle and a line … I have the queerest feeling that I had this once before.'

'How riveting,' the other drawled. 'We should try and make a shelter. I have no desire to wait until morning to be dry and warm again.'

The young man nodded and stood, he slipped the black pebble into the pocket of his own, long black robe to nestle beside a silvery cloak. He walked down till he was facing the side of the hill and swished a slender wand of dark holly, stained with age and smoothed by long use. The sandy earth a short way away parted. The grassy surface split open and the sand melted aside leaving a shallow hollow. The young man twisted his wan in a curious motion and the hole deepened and widened, sinking sideways into the earth so that a small cave was formed. A few more motions and he seemed confident that it was secure.

'That should do for the night. I'll get some heather to soften it,' he said with a satisfied grunt.

'Do so. I will move the fire into a pit nearer to it,' the elder said with a sharp, decisive nod.

A fork of jagged, purple lightning ripped across the horizon and shortly afterwards thunder rumbled in the distance. The elder lifted the rabbit on its spit off the fire and with a circular motion of his wand the fire and its fuel rose up into the air in a self-contained ball of flames which he gently nudged towards the shelter. The ball flared and flickered, moving haltingly, though by the time the younger returned with a bundle of heather to line the hollow it was burning brightly again and nestled near the cave.

Once the travellers had woven a net of dim light across the entrance to the cave and ensconced themselves the rabbit was slightly charred, but still edible. The rain rebounded from it, slipping away, running down the hill as they sat, picking the meat from its bones, hunched in the side of the long, low, hill. Lightning played across the sky but it passed before long leaving the air was fresh with the scent of rain, night air and heather.

The younger of the two wriggled uncomfortably as he settled down to sleep before pulling a long fragment of a thigh-bone out from underneath him. He looked at it for a moment before putting it aside. 'I admit,' he said, 'that I shall be glad when we have moved on.'

'Indeed,' came the sardonic reply.

The rain came again later into the night, pattering over the grass and the tall standing stone. Further along the long, white road it ran off the canvas of a wagon turned on its side. The water glistened on the wood and gaily painted cloth in the gleam of far away lightning.

The sun rose early and the rain from the night before turned to a light mist before evaporating entirely. The younger of the two sat up stiffly, stroking a hand absentmindedly over his cheek where a week's growth of beard continued to steadily build. His companion had no such problem, his cheeks were as smooth and hairless as the day they had first arrived in this land. They had nothing to breakfast on save a few blackberries growing amid the gorse and so before long they set off along the road, pausing only to wash their faces and hands in a puddle left by last night's rain.

The road was mostly dry by the time the sun had half climbed into the sky. The majority of the water had run off its surface and down into the neatly carved channels on either side. It was a strange thing that road. White dust gathered on its surface and it looked almost like chalk, but it was harder and smoother. Any dust or wear was superficial and as likely as not to vanish after the next rain storm.

The purple heather rose and fell around them, sheltering them in small valleys at times and falling away so that they walked on ridges above the plain. They walked in silence, striding onwards, their black cloaks and robes hardly making a noise. Occasionally the elder of the two would turn and glance back down the road, hawk-like eyes searching for something. At last he stopped for a moment, glancing up and down, 'Do you … I could have sworn there was someone walking beside us …'

The younger traveller shrugged. 'I see no-one.'

At one point a herd of something which might have been deer crossed the path ahead of them, their leaders bellowing to one another. One of the travellers threw a bolt of green light towards them, but they danced around it and were gone across the plains in a moment.

The two of them paused for rests from time to time. Once, whilst beside a pool of black water where a single hawthorn grew, twisted and stunted, red berries hanging between green leaves, a thin, high, keening cry disturbed them. The moved on then, unwilling to linger and crossed back to the white road. About them the wind and the crickets sang in the rough grass and in the far distance to the east the blue blur of mountains slowly became visible.

The caravan came in sight close to noon. It was yellow and red with high wheels and colourful ribbons bound to it. It lay on its side in the dip of the ditch beside the road. There was no sign of life around it. No-one appeared to be working to right it and there was no sign of a horse or pony in the harness.

They slowed to a halt and with a glance at one another split apart, circling the caravan from opposite ends. The younger man found the first of them. She was young, perhaps twelve, her body lay in a heap beside the front of the caravan, crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. There was no sign of a wound, but when he knelt to touch her cheek her skin crinkled like papyrus and folded inwards. He drew his hand back sharply, wiping it on the grass with a shudder of revulsion.

The others were scattered around the caravan: mother, father, son and grandmother. The latter had crouched in the centre of the caravan itself. The canvas had been torn open above her, although once again there were no wounds. The travellers met each other's eyes and the younger turned away to search further afield as the elder went to salvage what he could.

'Take care, Harry,' the older traveller said as he stepped into the caravan.

The younger, Harry paused, 'That was a hint of emotion I detected was it Tom?'

Tom shrugged. 'It would be inconvenient to have to find you.'

Harry raised an eyebrow, 'Really I'll have to take your temperature if you aren't careful. This is dangerously close to _caring_. It almost sounded as if you would find me.'

'What nonsense,' Tom said, turning away into the caravan. 'Of course I would find you, Boy.'

The heather to one side was beaten down from many feet and the younger followed the track. It did not lead far, stopping beside a shallow fold of land where the gorse rose up to form a ring around a weathered rowan tree. Beneath the tree a girl of fifteen or sixteen was crouched, clutching a red cloak in one hand and an iron dagger in the other. She was surrounded by a circle scratched into the earth. She looked exhausted, dark circles surrounded her brown eyes and her hair was greasy and tangled with heather. Her clothes had yet to finish drying from the previous night's rain and she was shivering.

The elder traveller pulled a stale loaf of bread from a cupboard in the caravan, putting it into a satchel he had taken along with the dried meat and fruit he had already found. He stepped gingerly over the grandmother's carcass, looking down to ensure that he did not touch her. As he looked up he stopped dead in his tracks, wand leaping into his hand. A tall man dressed in a long, dull robe, with pale, parchment like skin and hollow, sharp features was watching him from the far, closed off end of the caravan.

'Good afternoon,' said the stranger, smiling.


	3. Chapter 3

'Hello, are you okay?' Harry asked, moving forwards slowly towards the girl. He held his hands out, palms open. She looked back at him with wary, hunted eyes and swung the dagger towards him. He stopped, eyeing the blade and then slowly reached his hand towards her. As his hand crossed the circle there was a small flash of light like a bulb burning out and the girl yelped in fear. 'I'm here to help,' he said gently, trying to convey more with the tone than the words.

'Swear,' she whispered, her voice hoarse. Her accent was strange to him, with an odd cadence.

He blinked, 'You speak English? Yes I swear, I want to help you. I mean you no harm.'

'By iron and rowan? By your blood and bone?'

'I swear,' he said, bemused, 'by blood and bone, by iron and … did you say rowan? Well I swear by all of those. I won't hurt you. Honestly,' he reassured her. She gave a small sob of relief and he lifted the dagger out of her hand.

'Yeh really not one of them,' she said slowly, looking at the iron resting in his hand. 'But yeh eyes, they're have fey eyes.'

He nodded slowly, unsure what she meant. 'It's okay. I'm going to take you back to the road now. Come on, steady now.' He helped her up gently and though she flinched she said nothing. He began to walk her back over the heather leading her slightly away from the caravan. 'So … what's your name?' He asked offering an arm to steady her as she stumbled. Her feet were bare but she seemed not to notice the tough, springy heather.

She drew away from him, wary once more, 'How dare yeh?'

He hesitated, 'I meant no offence. I'm not from around here.'

She looked at him dubiously. 'It's madness to tell a stranger yer name, any fool knows that.' Her eyes darted to the dagger in his hand. 'What are yeh? A wizard? A sorcerer? A Cunning-Man?'

'I'm a wizard, or at least I was where I come from,' he said, uncertainly. 'Where I'm from though we don't hide our names. I'm sorry. What may I call you then?'

'They call me Heather. As often as not,' she said after a moment's consideration before drawing herself up and straightening her red cloak. 'No wonder yeh wear black. It explains yer eyes too. What do they call you?'

'I'm …' he paused, 'sorry I can't really tell you. They call me by my name, but if that's not safe … if I decide on something I'll let you know.'

She nodded, apparently satisfied. 'Give my knife back,' she said as they reached the road and then she blushed. He handed it back to her and turned towards the caravan.

'Were they your family?' He asked.

She nodded, looking away from the overturned caravan.

'Can I … would you like to tell me what happened?' He asked gently. A look of terror passed over her face and she shook her head, wrapping the cloak closer around herself. 'Don't worry, we'll given them a decent burial.'

She shook her head in horror. 'No! Burn them. Please, yeh must.'

He looked at her for a moment and gave a curt nod. 'Is there anything I can retrieve from there for you before we burn it?'

She hesitated, biting back tears. 'My father's dirk,' she saw the blank look of confusion on his face, 'a long dagger, and his pipes.'

He turned to the caravan, 'Old man? Are you in there?'

* * *

Tom looked steadily at the man in the caravan. 'Who are you?'

The other just smiled thinly, 'You know me well, Tom.'

Tom flinched, 'How do you know that name? _Who_ are you?'

'I know everyone's name. Do you hear that? He is calling.'

There was a shout from outside and for a moment Tom looked aside, by the time he had turned back the stranger was gone. The light seemed brighter without him. Sunlight dappled the interior in red and yellow as the light shone through the painted canvas.

'Are you in there?' Harry's head poked inside. 'There you are. I've found a survivor. Talks English. Still in shock I think. I don't think it's really registered yet. We ought to move on.' He rummaged inside a chest bolted to the floor and picked a dirk in a black sheath and a set of pan-pipes out from it.

'Boy did you see anyone leave the caravan?' Tom asked slowly, reluctant to lower his wand yet.

'No. Why? She says we need to burn the bodies,' he cast a glance at the limp grandmother. 'She might be right.' He turned to leave before adding, 'Oh and don't tell her you name or ask for hers, apparently it's a bit of a faux pas in these parts. We're calling her Heather.'

'No reason,' Tom said, casting a final look around before backing out slowly, wand at the ready. He paused surprised. 'She speaks English?'

The boy was gone though and there was no answer. He snatched up a few blankets, chucked what appeared to be a coin purse into the satchel with everything else and left.

They levitated the rag-doll like bodies into the caravan and then gave the girl a few moments at the younger man's insistence. She struck the flints, lighting the small pile of tinder she had placed within the caravan. It took only a few minutes for the entire structure to become ablaze as the fire caught on the oily canvas and dry wood. Smoke spun into the sky, drifting in the light breeze.

'We should move,' Tom said, watching the smoke. 'This is too obvious.'

Harry shot him a reproachful look but said nothing. The girl watched the flames, silently clutching the pan-pipes in one hand, the edges of her cloak in the other. She had slung the loop of the dirk's sheath over her shoulder so that it hung by her side. Tom sighed, turned on his heel and began to march down the road. After a short pause he heard two sets of footsteps hurrying to catch up.

'Oh no. No more strays,' he said without turning.

'She's got no-one, and we know nothing of the customs of this place. She'll be useful,' Harry pointed out.

'Very well. I will take the knowledge from her and we will carry on our way. Unhindered,' Tom said firmly. 'I will even let her live.'

'The kid is under my protection. Aren't you Heather?'

'I am no child,' the girl insisted quietly.

'It does not sound as if she is … stand aside now and I will be gentle,' Tom promised stopping in his tracks and turning sharply so that the dust and pebbles on the road crunched under his boots. His wand slipped into his hand

'Heather,' the younger said firmly, 'just accept my protection. Please. I know you're not a child.'

She nodded slowly, glancing back and forwards between the two of them. Tom sighed and sheathed the wand. 'Very well. However, you had better make yourself useful.'

She nodded again, eyeing the wand in its sheath suspiciously. 'So girl, why no names?' He asked, turning and striding onwards.

'Wise-men are yeh not? Wizards?' She asked curiously. They both nodded. 'Then how is it you don't know about names?'

'We're not from around here. The culture, the laws of magic and so on were different,' Harry said.

'Well names, words, writin', they're power. _Everyone_ knows that. You can find someone with a name. Should a magician, one of that sort, or the Gentry get your name …' she shuddered, the words trailing off.

'The Gentry?' Tom asked curiously.

'Don't talk about them too much, least-ways not with the same name,' she urged, 'and please … not now.' She cast a glance over her shoulder towards the smoke of the caravan.

'It's okay Heather. You don't have to talk about them,' Harry said quietly, 'what sort of things are used as names then?'

'It depends. Some places people just go by their profession: Baker, Burner, Candlestick-Maker. Travelling folk often use the names of wild things. Then there are the cats, but they don't care so much. Hard to bind a cat,' she said, almost wistfully.

'Doesn't that get confusing in towns? There must be a fair number of bakers,' Harry pointed out.

She shrugged, 'They can always be the Young Baker and the Old Baker. Why would it be confusing? Anyhow most have other use names too, things from different parts and the like.'

'No reason.'

'This is nonsensical though. You are still calling yourself this thing so that _is_ your name,' Tom said. 'It sounds like a half-baked superstition to me.'

'Nah. It's not the name you were _given_. I am not _named_ Heather. I'm just _called_ Heather,' she said patiently, the conversation apparently distracting her.

'So I might choose anything to be called?' Tom asked curiously. 'Say Lord, or the Master?'

'If yeh want people to laugh,' she said.

Tom shrugged and then after a moment's thought announced, 'I think, that the Serpent would be a suitable name.'

'You need to move on Old Man. Your school days are long behind you now,' Harry muttered quietly.

Heather, her footsteps beginning to slow ignored them both, 'Look, once we're out of sight of … _that_ , can we rest? I'm dog-tired.'

'Of course,' Harry said, cutting off any objections from Tom who merely rolled his eyes and continued walking, small puffs of white dust rising from beneath his boots as he strode onwards. Behind them the smoke slowly faded into the distance as before them the shadow of a forest grew greater and darker on the horizon beneath the blur of mountains.

Tom took the second watch that night. The stars were bright, silver points in the vault of the sky. They had camped less than a mile from the edge of the forest and the trees loomed in the distance, appearing unnaturally, impossibly tall in the starlight. The fire burnt low, dull red embers glowing softly cast a faint light over the sleeping forms of the boy and the child.

Tom leant forward to prod the fire, placing another piece of firewood gathered from the last clump of pines onto it. The flames spat and sparked as the wood caught and the resin landed in the fire. A shiver ran through them and they died down again.

'Good evening,' said a voice from the other side of the fire.

Tom looked up. 'Oh, it's you again,' he said before looking back to the flames. 'Will you tell me who you are now?'

'No,' the stranger said. 'Is there any name by which you would like to be known? Tom? Voldemort? Serpent? Something else perhaps?'

Tom twitched slightly but merely shrugged, 'Call me what you will. You know who I am.'

'Of course. Would you like a clue as to _my_ identity?'

'If it pleases you,' Tom said, tossing the stick down and gathering his cloak tighter around him.

'In this spot a hundred years ago the Gentry caught a man and woman they had pursued over hill and through dale. I was there. I have been with you time and again in your life. I was there when you were born,' the stranger said softly. He looked over towards Heather, 'that woman has never forgotten me.'

'Ah,' Tom swallowed heavily and drew his cloak tighter still. 'Is this the point where I challenge you to a game of chess then?'

'No. I have not come for you, or for your companions, yet.'

'Why are you following me then?' Tom challenged him.

'Following you?' The stranger chuckled, speaking softly and gently, 'I am there for _every_ life in every world that ever was, will be or might be. I am there when stars fail, galaxies die and universes are un-knit. Do you imagine your _life_ matters to me? You are nothing. I Can Wait.' There was a silence after he had spoken, even the normal noises of night animals had ceased and the sound of the fire seemed to ebb away.

'What do you want then? I will admit that I have been running from you for decades, but I have never seen you … like this before,' Tom said. Now that he was facing his fear there did not seem to be much point in running.

'I wish to offer you a bargain. There is something I wish to know, something I wish you to do for me,' the stranger said, pleasantly.

'What would be my reward?' Tom asked without hesitation, looking up into the stranger's eyes. In the shadows thrown by the fire they were almost black and as he looked at them he froze. He shivered and looked away, his limbs trembled as weak as water. Sweat erupted over his body.

The stranger smiled and drew a playing card from somewhere in his robe. The back of it was black but the front bore the image of a dancing skeleton. 'Do as I ask, let me do what is necessary, and shall give you this card. Whosoever bears it shall be immortal.'

'Do you really expect me to believe that?' Tom asked, though his eyes never left the playing card.

'It's your choice. All I ask is that for a moment you bring me your other companion's cloak,' the stranger said, waving a pale hand in Harry's general direction.

'That is all?' Tom asked suspiciously. 'What's so valuable about that?'

'Please do it. I will explain,' the stranger said, 'is it really such a high price?'

For a moment Tom hesitated, 'No harm will come to him?'

'I will not touch a hair on his head,' the stranger paused seeing Tom's look. 'This will not harm him.'

With a swift motion Tom threw back his cloak, took the three steps towards the Boy and gently plucked the long, silvery cloak from his pocket. Then he held it out towards the stranger. It, however, looked only at the sleeping boy.

'Fascinating,' he murmured.

'Do you want me to give it to you?' Tom asked, his eyes fixed on the card. 'Why does this matter so much to you?'

'It is … complicated. I cannot so much as touch this artefact, or its owner,' he cast a long, amused look at Tom. 'No, do not think of taking it for your own. It belongs to him and may not be taken by force or stealth. It would only return to him,' the stranger sighed running his hand through the air above the cloak. 'Once there were three brothers walking along a road at twilight … to youngest I gave this cloak, once my own, to pass unseen by all.' It stood, walked over to Harry and ran a hand through the air before touching the card again.

Tom looked longingly at the cloak for a moment before sliding it back into the boy's pocket. 'So, is that all?'

'Yes. For now,' the stranger stood and flicked the card towards Tom. It spun lazily over the fire and Tom half leapt for it, snatching it from the air and clutching it tightly.'

'As long as you carry that you shall not die or age. Lose it and you will be as mortal as any man.' The stranger turned away from the fire. 'We will meet again, Tom.' Then it was gone and the night sounds returned.

* * *

Morning broke slowly, golden sunlight crept across the landscape. They ate sparingly of the bread they had taken from the caravan. Heather spent most of the meal staring at the food, barely moving. The sun had barely begun to truly dispel the dew which lingered on the heather when they set off again.

Tom took the lead and Harry took the rear. They were more careful than they had been. The caravan and the girl's unwillingness to explain had left them wary. Nevertheless, they progressed swiftly. The last mile of the road before the forest was as flat and straight as ever.

'Have you ever hear of travellers from other worlds here?' Harry asked as they walked between twin ridges of heather, not far from the tall, pale trees. Dark green leaves, almost black in places, rustled in the faint breeze.

Heather looked up, apparently startled out of a daze. 'Only tales and the like, but there are many legends about such things. I heard tell all our ancestors were brought here long ago. Others say that we brought the Hunters here ourselves. Why?'

'I once knew a man who might have walked between the worlds. I was wondering if it had been known of here.'

Tom hissed as Heather asked, 'Does that mean yeh from a different world?'

'Yes.'

'Don't pull my leg,' she said uncertainly, 'What was it like?'

'It was home,' he said tightly, fixing his gaze on the trees ahead. The conversation faltered and died as they approached the trees.

The trees themselves were similar to beeches. Their branches spread out in wide arcs and below their roots interwove across the ground layered in fallen leaves and moss. The road continued, though here and there the silvery roots crept over its edges. Green shadows intermingled with small patches of golden sunlight lay across the forest floor. High above small fern like plants nestled in the crook of the trees, thick, succulent red flowers hung down from them. The smell of leaf mould, moss and the heady sweetness of the flowers mingled into a slow, sleepy atmosphere.

The wood was almost entirely silent, though perhaps an hour after they had first entered it Tom began to be convinced he could hear two distant noises. Firstly, he was slowly becoming more and more certain that something was following them. Very occasionally there would be the crack of a piece of wood or the concentrated rustle of leaves as something large moved through them, worryingly he could not shake the notion that it was intentionally making the noises. Secondly, there was the low, haunting whisper of wind chimes in the breeze.

Tom looked up between the branches trying to spot the chimes he was growing more and more convinced must be near. It took him almost a minute to spot them, swaying between the trees. Many were covered in moss and lichen, but others were newer. Curving wind-flutes of bone swung to and fro between the trees. He paused looking up at them. Many of the bones were human, some were larger some smaller, but the majority were undoubtedly those of men, women and children.

He was not a good man, at least by normal standards, and he proudly admitted it. He enjoyed causing pain, and being better, faster and crueller than any competitor, but there was something alien and cold in this.

'What do these mean?' He asked softly. Around them the quiet music of the chimes slipped between the silvery trees.

Heather spoke up quietly, 'They mean that we are at the border. They are the bones of those the lord or lady of this land, and that we're crossing to, slew. Now let's shift?' She asked nervously, 'By rowan and red thread I would prefer to be away from here.'

Tom ignored her plea. 'Those that they have personally slain? But there are thousands of bones here! I can see no end to them,' he said turning to look to the right and the left. Above in the trees the bones rattled together.

'Please, this is not a good place to be,' she insisted.

'Come on, we can talk about this later,' Harry insisted, he met Tom's gaze unflinchingly, though a brief, troubled expression crossed his face. 'Are you okay? You look a little strange.'

'I am fine,' Tom said brusquely, looking away.

They passed under the chimes and carried on down the road. Once the chimes had been passed the forest became lighter. There were more glades where they caught sight of forest ponies and deer as well as glittering birds which sang as they flitted from tree to tree.

They stopped for lunch beside a pool of clear water settled between granite rocks and the roots of the tall silvery trees. The water bubbled up between a pile of boulders washing away the leaves which floated on the water's surface carrying them down stream and away.

Tom perched himself on top of the boulders, watching the road as they ate. 'Where does this road go?' He asked at last once they had finished the Spartan meal. 'Who built it? Who keeps it up?'

The girl shrugged, 'It's always been here. Da,' she paused for a moment, her voice catching before she continued, 'Da used to say the Wandering God built it from a single hair.'

'It must go somewhere though. Roads are not just built to nowhere. Where does it pass? What is the next town?'

'Trewalder, the Mireless, Pentor, Charn, Rock, Pity Me, Tomorrow, Today, Yesterday, it doesn't have an end. Been told it goes beyond even the realm of Anfwn and the Marshes of Memories,' she said slowly, fiddling with the short grass she was sitting on, cross legged.

'That …' Tom paused cocking his head to listen, 'is peculiarly unhelpful.' He turned to look up the road. 'Can you hear that?' He slipped his wand into his hand and stood slowly.

'What is it?' Harry asked. The sound was drawing closer through the trees becoming defined, solid. 'Are those hooves?'

The girl crouched behind the rocks, 'Hide!'

Through the trees a rider in black, wearing a tall, wide-brimmed hat came in sight.


	4. Chapter 4

Tom and Harry watched the road as Heather hid herself. The rider came along the road slowly, his horse trotting gently at an easy pace as it passed between the trees. As he came closer they could see the hilt of a sword by his side, one hand rested on the pommel as the other held the reins.

Harry took the lead and made his way back to the path signalling to Tom to stand ready. The girl had wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders and was muttering under her breath.

'Good afternoon,' Harry said to the rider, stepping out into the road some distance away so as not to startle the horse.

The rider drew his mount to a standstill. 'Greetings,' he said with a curt nod of his head, 'by the Rowan Tree.' His voice was gruff with a rough accent. He dug in a pouch for a moment before tossing a flat, grey, metal disc towards Harry who caught it easily before glancing at it.

'Forgive me, I am a stranger here, I don't know your customs. Would you like this back?' Harry asked.

'Aye,' the rider grunted, dismounting and walking his horse forwards. 'You've passed the test of iron, that's good enough for me. They call me Albanac,' he added tipping his hat.

'I'm just a traveller, making my way with a couple of friends …' Harry hesitated for a moment and tossed the iron disc back to the rider who tucked it away in the pouch once more.

'Well met, Traveller,' Albanac said, leading the heavy, dark-grey horse forwards, 'are your friends near?'

Harry nodded but before he could speak Tom and the girl stepped out of the trees. Heather's left hand was gently grasping the hilt of the dirk, but her movements were relaxed and easy. She spoke up calling out to them, 'We offer yeh bread and hospitality.'

He tipped his hat to her in turn with a small smile, 'It would be my pleasure, lady. You're all from these parts then?'

'Round about,' she said shortly, her hand slipped to her side and she smiled cheerfully.

They worked their way back to the pool of water. As she ducked under the moss covered branch of a fallen tree Tom stepped close to whisper, 'Why did you do that?'

'What?'

'Offer him food. We do not have much for ourselves,' he hissed. 'Or is there an advantage to this?'

She blinked confused, 'Well he can't harm us now can he? I'd lay ten to one odds he's a mercenary, dangerous folk they are.'

Tom shrugged, she had confirmed his theory: there was either a set of cultural norms to be exploited here or a form of normalised ritualistic magic. Nevertheless, his ignorance galled him. 'Why?' He asked as they returned to the dry rocks where they had been sitting.'

'Why what?'

'Why does that make us safe? What would happen to him if he attacks us?' He asked, trying to draw the answer out of her.

'He'll owe a debt, if he breaks the covenant his luck'll turn. Same as ours now that we've offered it in hospitality. We can't hurt him; he can't hurt us. For now, any roads,' she said simply settling herself back down. Tom sighed but let it drop as Albanac and Harry came closer.

He watched her for a moment, she seemed composed, calm even. He was grudgingly impressed. Most people he had known whined more when their families were killed. He had been dreading days of screaming and sob stories, but the girl was coping remarkably well. It might simply have been shock of course, but for once Harry seemed to have picked a stray without the usual faults.

Harry and Albanac followed them into the glade and as Albanac tied his horse to a nearby tree the girl fished a piece of bread and a lump of hard cheese from her pack. Albanac laid his sword down on a flat rock, tossed his hat down beside it and sat, accepting the bread with a nod of thanks.

'Rare to meet gentle-folk in these parts,' he said with a smile only for Heather to flinch, 'nay, fear not. I dun' mean the Good Neighbours or their ilk. Manners are rare, 'and worthy of praise.'

Somewhere between the trees a bird called, a soft, wood-pigeon like coo. Heather paused for a moment, listening before answering, 'Tis my pleasure. They know me as Heather. Have you come far?'

'A tidy step. From Lady Severn's latest game. 'How's the road?' He asked, mulling over his food, slowly nibbling at the edge of the cheese, surprisingly daintily, Tom thought.

'Fair, fair. Only a few mishaps,' she said busying herself with finding their gourd of water. 'How has your road been?'

'There's been nowt foul or fair worth the mention,' he hesitated for a moment before adding, reight strange though. Met a lad who said he'd passed Death on the road near enough to twilight and Death'd given him a terrible look.'

Tom twitched slightly. 'Do you expect me to believe you can meet _Death_ himself on the road?'

Albanac shrugged, 'It's been known. Anyhow things aren't reight. Men, women and childers taken at midday …' he shook his head, frowning. For a moment he looked upwards, catching Tom's gaze before shivering. 'I reckon tha knows better than I.'

'Might I ask something?' Harry said, flicking a smooth pebble into the water. There was a plop and it sank, ripples slowly expanded outwards. Albanac nodded, watching the ripples. 'Who, or what, are the Gentry? You both seem terrified of them.' He ignored Heather's flinch as she made a small sign with her left hand.

Albanac dug a tobacco pipe from a pouch and filled it before starting to light it. He glanced up towards the sun. 'Harm may come of it, but it's safe enough for now. Understand though, 'tis best not to name them.

'There are many, high and low. Low is dangerous, but no more than any bear or wolf. Red thread, rowan and iron'll guard you well enough from most of their kind.

'High though …' he succeeded in lighting the pipe and put it to his lips, slowly coaxing smoke out of the tobacco before gently inhaling, 'That's where the true danger lies. They're old and strong. Most wear the shapes of men or women. Sun up, sun down, they care not. Only met a few but tha doesn't forget them in a hurry. Like a cat with a mouse they are. You might live, if you amuse them enough.' He sat back, chewing on the pipe slowly as he puffed at it, sending small clouds of smoke spiralling into the air.

Harry frowned, mulling over Albanac's words, ' _What_ are they though? Daemons? Gods?'

'Some'd say yes to both. I heard once that long ago there were a great war between three hosts: the host of the damned, the host of the blessed, and the third part were those who did not care a jot. Still that's nought but a legend. A question for a question though: where are tha from that tha doesn't know the Hill Dwellers?'

'We came from another world into this one. It was … different. There … we, we weren't welcome anymore. Time to seek fresher shores and so on and so forth. So here we are pilgrims and travellers in a strange land,' said Harry, his hand rising to trace the scar on his forehead.

'The Pilgrim and the Traveller? I like it,' Albanac said with a firm puff of smoke from his pipe. 'You look like scholars and wise-men the pair of you though. I'd be a mite careful on the road if I were you.'

'Thank you …' Harry said giving a polite nod. 'And don't look so sour Old Man,' he said shooting a glance at Tom, 'as names go it could be worse.'

'I were thinking,' Albanac said slowly, 'Ole Bill,' he gestured at the horse, 'and I could do with company on the road. Four's safer than three or one. Would tha care to walk with me aways?'

'To be sure,' Heather said, rousing herself, 'ye'll swear no harm to us whilst we go?'

'And,' Tom added, 'answer one more question.'

'Certainly, provided it does me no harm and I might ask one in return,' Albanac said.

'Why are you called Albanac? I was under the impression names were not used,' Tom asked.

'That's me own business. I'd take it kindly if it weren't mentioned again. No reason that a man mightn't use a false name though,' Albanac said shortly. 'Will tha travel with me or no then?'

'We'll travel with you.' Tom said, smiling, 'I was only curious.'

Dusk was falling when they came to the river. It ran beside the road, snaking back and forwards to their left. Fiery sunlight played across the swiftly flowing water, passing through the thinly scattered trees. Albanac paused, holding his horse still as he considered the water. 'We might cross here. I doubt anything lurks in water flowing this fast.'

'We don't have the clothes for it,' Heather pointed out, 'yeh might be fine, but the rest of us will freeze tonight.'

Harry smiled, 'Don't worry …'

'We can just find a bridge. There must be one along here,' Tom said, interrupting the younger man, shooting him a warning glance. 'At some point the road must cross the river.'

'Aye, but what will we find here?' Albanac asked softly, his fingers running over the pommel of his sword. 'Bridges are powerful places after all.'

'We haven't a choice,' Heather said, 'unless you wish to part ways.'

Albanac hesitate for only a moment before only a moment before shaking his head, 'Nay lass. Let's just get there afore nightfall.'

The sun had dipped to the horizon by the time they came in sight of the bridge. It was long, low and roughly shaped with shallow steps leading up to the curved arches which stretched over the water. At near end of the bridge two tall, misshapen pillars stood on either side of the bridge. Small water-flies buzzed above the surface of the water, the wide flat rocks and amongst the bull-rushes which grew around the banks.

Albanac came to a standstill, peering at the bridge, 'Something ain't reight. Listen. I'll go up to the bridge, if there's anything waiting it should reveal itself. Heather, lass, do ye know the washerwomen trick?'

'I do at that,' she said with a thin smile. 'Any signal?'

'If I take off my hat,' Albanac said after a moment's thought. 'The pair of you had better stay back. Scholars have no business in this.'

Harry opened his mouth to say something but Tom's hand closed on his sleeve. 'Of course, if that is what you advise,' the older man answered for them. They stepped back into the bushes on the side of the road as Heather crept down to the water's edge pulling one of the spare blankets from her pack.

Albanac walked down the road his left hand holding onto the horses' reins, his right hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword. As he approached the bridge the stones shifted, unfolding. They were two small trolls, each stood about eight feet tall at the shoulder. They carried heavy maces which they had been holding close to their chests as they knelt. From where Tom and Harry stood they were barely more than silhouettes.

'Are you sure we shouldn't help? He only has a sword,' Harry observed.

'If necessary I am sure we can step in. However, this could be a valuable learning experience, and I would prefer that they learn little or nothing of what _we_ can do,' Tom said, taking a seat on a nearby fallen tree.

'Sometimes you can be too calculating for your own good. What if a time comes when they find out anyway?'

'Then we tell them that we were uncertain of what use we might be so soon after our arrival in this world,' Tom said smiling lightly as he watched Albanac approach the trolls. 'Come on, let's get a little closer.'

Albanac bowed slightly to the two, hulking creatures. Their skin was mottled green and blue, heavy scales covered their backs and shoulders. 'Good evening gentle-folk,' he said, touching his fingers to the brim of his hat. The reins slipped from his left hand and the horse took a few steps away from the trolls, its hooves dancing on the ground.

The larger troll looked at him, large eyes blinking in the growing gloaming, 'Pay toll.'

'Aye? Now what toll would that be?' Albanac asked cocking his head to the side, loosening his sword in its sheath.

The troll pointed to the horse with its mace. Albanac shook his head slowly, 'I need that horse tha sees. I need to get away from here fast like.'

'Why?' The troll asked slowly, swinging its head back towards Albanac.

'Ain't ye heard there's a Washerwoman upstream?' The mercenary said, shifting his stance so that he was facing the larger troll with his right-hand side. He whistled softly and the horse trotted nervously side to side, wandering between him and the smaller troll.

'A Washer at the Ford?' The troll asked, taking a step backwards, glancing from side to side.

'I think it were coming this way,' Albanac reached upwards and plucked the hat from his head, tossing it to the side. 'It'd be better to move on.'

'Toll first,' the younger troll said after a moment's consideration. 'Then move.'

There was a wet slap of cloth on stone from down amid the rushes. It was barely audible over the babble of the river. Albanac reached up letting his cloak slip off his shoulders. Then the slap of wet cloth on stone came again. The trolls twitched, looking downstream and Albanac moved.

Albanac slid forward drawing his sword in one smooth motion. Holding the blade point down he slipped beneath a wild, surprised blow from the big troll's mace. He whistled and the horse reared, its iron shod hooves cracked down on the smaller troll's arm, the troll fell backwards screaming. Albanac's sword rose in a swift, smooth arc, slicing through the troll's soft belly. The wound flickered with fire where the steel touched it and the creature howled in agony.

The mace fell from the larger troll's fingers. It clutched at its belly, falling to its knees. Albanac stepped back and ran his blade through the troll's throat. Blood, black in the failing light, dripped from its mouth and then Albanac drew the sword back. The troll fell forwards, dead. The smaller troll, still wailing from the wound to its arm, looked stared in horror at Albanac as he rose, sword dripping with blood. After a moment's indecision it dropped its mace and threw itself into the river, disappearing beneath the water's surface.

Harry and Tom sauntered down the road towards the bridge as Albanac carefully wiped his blade clean and checked the edge of the blade for nicks and chips. Heather climbed up from the river, wringing the blanket dry.

'What is a Washerwoman?' Tom asked as they came within earshot.

'Why, it's a lady who washes clothes,' Harry replied with a weak smile as he leant against the bridge. Tom rolled his eyes.

'They're, they're … well difficult to explain,' Heather said, slapping the blanket on the stones of the bridge to further dry it. 'Trust me when I say yeh dinnae want to meet them. If yeh meet a woman down by the river get away from her. By and large they do no harm, but most folks find it uncomfortable. Some say they can kill a man; others they just show the future. The shirts they wash … they are the shirts of the dead.'

Tom nodded, Harry nudged him in the ribs and Tom sighed. 'Oh. Yes. Thank you.'

As they walked away from the river, down the road Tom turned his head for a moment. He could have sworn that he had heard the wet slap-slap of cloth on the river stones.

* * *

The sun was just beginning its descent when they crested a long hill the next day. Below the hill lay a long valley. From the hilltop Harry could see the road cutting a white line down the slope and along the valley floor. For once it seemed prepared to deviate from its absolutely straight path as it curved around the low mounds of tumuli. Here and there lay groups of stones, bare to the sun and from the hilltop like huge, rough-hewn tables. Old, gnarled olive trees peppered the valley floor and in the distance Harry could just about make out grey and white dots which might have been yet more stones.

The wind that blew up from the valley and the long lake which lay to the side of it, not far from the road, was cool and refreshing as it washed over them. Harry, however, could not suppress a shiver as they stared down from the ridge. Beside them the horse fidgeted, hooves dancing up and down nervously. Albanac took off his hat and scratched his head for a moment before replacing it. Tom, however, seemed unaffected; he stood to one side his eyes closed as he enjoyed the breeze.

'What is that down there?' Harry asked when no-one seemed inclined to move down the hill.

Albanac scuffed at the short grass with the toe of his boot. 'That'd be the Great Necropolis, the Valley of Tombs. The Old Folk buried the dead there long ago. Oft there's a price to be paid for passing through such places.'

'What kind of price?' Harry asked.

'Changes. Mayhap there'll be none today. Anyhow we ain't got another road as I see it,' Albanac said firmly. 'I've passed this way a time or two reight enough and nought has happened to me.'

'Couldn't we go around?' Harry asked, he took a step back from the peak of the hill, unwilling to look down into the valley any longer. 'It doesn't look hard going.'

Albanac raised one thick eyebrow at him. 'On the west there are the Grey Barrows; on the east the Laughing Marshes. It'd take weeks to skirt those.'

Harry hesitated but decided not to ask any further. There was something in the set of Albanac's jaw which put him off. He stretched slightly and cracked his fingers.

'Well the day's not getting any longer. Might as well get on with it,' he said and started off down the hillside. The road turned into wide, shallow steps which had been invisible from the top of the hill and which made the going far easier than Harry had expected.

The sun was slowly dipping towards the edge of the distant hills beyond the lake, sending lines of golden fire running over the black waters. The wind was colder in the valley; the touch of the dark lake-waters had chilled it. The tombs which sometimes came close to the road were many and varied in their shapes and styles. Some were like little beehives, or giant eggs, with fragile looking shells of white clay; others were great slabs of mossy stone, and then there were the long, low, grassy mounds. The last were almost unnoticeable at times, but the larger ones were almost hill-like; in their sides there were embedded squat arches of dark, grey stone.

Unconsciously the four of them walked closer together. Albanac's hand rested loosely on the hilt of his sword and Harry quietly unsheathed his wands. Heather wriggled her fingers, stretching them as she glanced from side to side peering through the trees.

'You seem ill at ease, Boy,' Tom said casually. Out of all of them he seemed the most comfortable with the morbid landscape.

'Too many traumatic experiments in graveyards,' Harry said shortly.

'You really need to move on. It was only once,' Tom said dismissively.

'I think you're forgetting the time you destroyed the graveyard at Godric's Hollow just to stop me visiting my parent's graves …'

'Ha. The good old days, they were quite something weren't they?' Tom said with a twitch of a smile.

Harry glowered at him. 'That's without mentioning the _inferi_ incident …'

'What are _inferi_?' Heather asked interrupting the two of them.

'Walking corpses. Sort of puppets under a necromancer's control. Pray you never meet one. The only thing they fear is fire,' Harry muttered.

'That's dark magic,' Heather said with a shudder looking around them. 'I do not like to think on it. Not with the mist rising an' all.'

'Mist?'

'Over there,' she said pointing to the left where pale white tendrils of mist were rising from the lake-cum-river's dark waters. It snaked through the olive trees, spreading out in front and behind them, lit by the glow of the setting sun.

Harry swallowed nervously and picked up the pace. The sound of birdsong and crickets had died away leaving only silence. 'I hate bloody mists,' he hissed at Tom.

'Careful Boy, you'll make the children think we have bad luck. In any case it would be far worse if it were literally a "bloody mist",' Tom mused, but he too had drawn his wand. 'I wonder how much blood you would need to fill a valley this size with mist.'

'Surely that depends on how thick you want the mist to be,' Harry said, 'or how high, or both. Quite a lot of factors really.'

'I suppose so. Then there's the question of how threatening it would really be. I mean, yes the concept of a "blood mist" is good but a fine layer of blood can end up looking almost pink to begin with, if you aren't careful.'

'I'd imagine that might actually end up being more sinister as a result. Slow realisations over sudden shock value and so on,' Harry said. Around them the mist was creeping outwards and spreading up at an alarming rate, filling the air around them with a pale haze. 'Do you think this is natural?'

Tom shook his head, 'There is a sound, almost at the back of my mind, like a fiddle playing. Yet I know my ears can hear nothing of the sort. This is not normal. Can't you hear it?'

'No,' Harry said bluntly.

Heather shook her head, but Albanac shrugged, 'Nae sound, but there's a feeling at the back o' me neck. We ought to hurry.'

The conversation fell into silence as they began to stride onwards, almost jogging along the road which slowly vanished underneath the layer of mist as it thickened into an all-consuming fog. The sun was low and the fading light only added shadows to the thick white blanket which spilt from the lake. It was not long before Tom could hardly see the others in front of him, and even the noise of the horse's hooves and their breathing became muffled in the dense fog.

He ran his fingers over the grip of his wand, it was reassuringly solid in comparison to everything else. Harry, he thought, was slightly ahead of him, his figure little more than a grey shadow in the fog. It occurred to him a moment later that the shadow was not moving and then he was standing beside the grey, green bark of an olive tree. Droplets of water dangled from its leaves. Tom looked around slowly, there was no sign of the others. He knelt till he could see the ground, it was covered in short, tough grass.

'Damnit,' he swore softly. ' _Homenum revelio_.' The magic flickered on the end of his wand and died. He swore again. It was impossible to tell if they were merely beyond the reach of the magic, or whether the spell simply refused to work in this world.

He looked about. There was nothing to see, save for the olive tree and the fog. Then there was a shout from his left. He turned towards it; the words were indistinct, but it was Harry's voice. He strode towards where it had come from as nonchalantly as he could. In the back of his mind twisting music danced. He shook his head distractedly trying to concentrate. The cry came again and Tom followed it, walking into the black waters of the lake.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry slowed as the mist began to thin slightly, turning to check upon the others. Heather almost crashed into him as she skidded to a halt. A moment later Albanac emerged from the mist, his horses' hooves were striking blue sparks from the stones of the road as it trotted along.

'What is it? Why have we stopped?' Albanac asked frowning as he looked around, loosening his sword in his sheath.

'Where's Tom?' Harry asked. He pushed past Albanac and Heather before shouting, 'TOM!' The shout faded into the nothingness of the fog. They waited, but there was no reply.

'If he's gone he's gone,' Albanac said grimly laying a hand on Harry's shoulder as he stepped forwards.

'Trust me,' Harry said grimly, 'he's not one to just disappear. We've got to find him.'

'Look Traveller,' Heather said softly, 'I can see he's your friend, but this ain't a good place to linger.'

'It's not about friendship,' Harry said, brushing Albanac's hand off his shoulder. 'He's dangerous; the most dangerous man you'll ever meet. If I'm not with him he might do _anything_. This _world_ will not be safe.'

Albanac opened his mouth to reply only to stop as a shadow slowly moved into view through the fog. 'Is that him?' He asked, 'It don't look reight.'

The sound of a pipe drifted through the mists. The tune seemed simple, but the piper played around himself, notes dancing in the frigid air. Ice danced in the mist. Albanac drew his sword, taking his hand from the horse's reins to stroke its head. Heather drew her dirk and ran her fingers along the edge of it.

'Tom?' Harry asked. He raised his wand cautiously as he took another step forward.

The shadow stumbled and raised itself. Harry took another step forwards, squinting towards it. The pipe's music danced and leapt. The shadow moved closer. There was a sickly smell in the air, sweet and putrid.

'Lad, come away. That isn't him,' Albanac said some way behind Harry. 'We need to move. We'll look for him in light once the mist's gone.'

Harry ignored him, 'Is that you? Are you okay?' He shivered as an icy gust of wind ran through the mist sending wet rolls of fog over him. The shadowy figure gave a low, painful groan. Harry hesitated, transfixed as the figure stumbled closer, it was close enough now to see it was not wearing a robe. It was almost upon him when Albanac's hand pulled him backwards. The sword flashed forwards in an arc and the shadow hissed.

'They're all around,' Heather said calmly from behind them.

'What are they?' Albanac asked bemused. 'I cannae get a good look at 'em in this damn mist.'

'I don't know, but they're everywhere,' Heather said as Harry and Albanac re-joined her.

'What do we do, Lady?' Albanac asked. He shifted his grip on his sword, keeping his arm relaxed and at ease. He slapped his horse's flank. 'Go, get ye'self somewhere safe.' The horse snorted and broke into a trot and then a canter, vanishing into the mists.

'We retreat,' Heather said. Her voice had lost its accent and there was a ring of authority in her tone. Harry turned to look at her despite himself. She was taller and older than she had been and her eyes were a livid green.

'Of course,' Harry muttered, half to himself, 'because no innocent victim of an attack could actually _be_ an innocent victim of an attack. Madam, we will have words about this later.'

'By all means,' she said turning so that she was back to back with them. 'For now though, Albanac, give him a sword or something.'

'I don't need one,' Harry promised. 'Trust me. _Ventus_.' A breeze sprang up, gently thinning the mist directly around them.

The three of them walked slowly, facing outwards, circling. Gradually the shadows in the mist closed in around them. They stepped off the road onto the short, tough grass. Harry stumbled as he took a step backwards onto one of the barrows.

'We can't let 'em drive us where they will,' Albanac warned. 'We've gotten to make our stand.'

He raised his sword as a shambling figure drew closer and slashed in a single, swift strike whipped the blade across its throat. The blade did not pause, sliding across and down it severed a hand in a blaze of tiny flames. The figure reached out its other arm, ignoring the wounds even as fire began to flow from the cuts. Albanac stabbed upwards, driving the blade through the figure's chest, ripping the blade down, through the soft tissue of its belly.

The shambling creature reached out, its cold, dry fingers gripping Albanac in a vice-like grip. Heather lunged forwards, her dirk sliced upwards a ribbon of green light flickering on its edge as it cut through the creature's arm without resistance. Albanac took the opportunity to shake his arm loose and slid his sword free before decapitating their attacker with a backhanded blow.

Harry bent to look at the dismembered and decapitated figure, a pale light blossoming at the tip of his wand as he knelt beside it. It was a desiccated corpse, papery, grey skin stretched tight over bones, the lips pulled back in a fixed grin. There were rotted rags wrapped around it, old, tattered grave cloths. 'This is ... well, this is an _inferius_. The Dead, capital D and all,' Harry said biting his lip as he scrambled back onto his feet. 'Move fast. They win by overwhelming their prey. Take off their heads if you can.'

The sun was dipping below the hills Harry realised as he looked up, the mist made it hard to tell, but the light levels were dropping fast. At the edge of sight, he could see dozens, maybe scores of shambling dead moving towards them in a tightening circle. Some were unarmed, but others carried weapons, old, curving blades which glimmered with unnatural light.

'How fresh does the body have to be?' Heather asked as calmly as she could whilst they backed up the mound of the barrow towards two olive trees.

'As long as there's a skeleton left the magic will do the rest, if the necromancer's powerful enough,' Harry said grimly, considering the hundreds of tombs they had passed.

He flicked out his wand, a jet of fire as thick as a tree-trunk lashed out burning through the mist. It struck the _inferi,_ throwing them to the ground with its force. As the fire moved on though they pulled themselves to their feet, they were blacked and smoking but there was none of the fear Harry had expected. He scowled, twisting the wand so that the flame intensified, its centre a pure, blinding, crackling white. The flames washed over the fallen _inferi_ as they stumbled to their feet, and then flared upwards in swirling pillars. Their skin and bones crumbled into charcoal before the heat. Harry's wand bucked and trembled under his hand and with a grunt he broke the spell.

Harry glanced to the sides, he had almost lost himself in the moment. Albanac was battling three, his sword dancing in his hand as it sliced through a grinning skull. Heather had plunged her dirk through the eye-socket of another, whispering something as the blade glowed with green light and slid through the corpse as if it were water.

Albanac spun around, ducking under the blow of an _inferius_ and with the momentum he drew his sword around almost splitting the rotting torso in two. Rune blazed along the sword as he drove it down, finishing off the attacker.

Heather nipped in as the third of Albanac's assailants reached out for him, knocking it to the side. Her blade cutting deep slashes through its chest. Harry threw out his arm as it lunged for her and caught it with a curse. Purple light exploded and the corpse was thrown back into a second, bringing them down together. Their skins and bones melted, leaving them a weakly twitching heap on the grass.

'Hold them off for me,' Heather hissed. She crouched and began to score a circle in the top of the shallow hill with the tip of her dirk.

Harry nodded and swished his wand twice, once towards each of the olive trees. They stretched, the branches writhed and gripped _inferi_ tearing them limb from limb. The mist was thinning, though it did little to lessen chilly gloom of the twilight. Harry turned around tugging on the last of the energy left in the _ventus_ charm to bowl the closest of the shambling corpses over.

Albanac danced onto the other side of Heather, slicing through the tendons of two of the fresher Dead before slamming the pommel of his sword onto the head of one turning it to pulp. The second grabbed him, fingers almost dragging him down before Harry blew a hole through its neck with a flick of his wand.

Harry clenched his jaw, concentrating as he turned one _inferius'_ limbs into ravens which launched themselves at the dead, pecking and scratching, albeit to little effect. He waved his wand in an arc, freezing the remaining mist. He summoned it in a hail of tiny shards of ice which ripped another walking corpse into a tangled mess of blood and melt water.

'STOP!' Heather called as Harry raised his wand again. She had closed the circle around them. Albanac leant on his sword, the tip digging into the ground. Harry paused, body trembling with the rush of adrenaline, waiting for something to happen. He held his wand ready as the _inferi_ slowly walked closer, closing in around them. There was nothing to suggest that the circle would protect them. Outside the ring the two olive trees shuddered and ceased moving as Harry's connection to them died. Pieces of old, dried skin hung from their branches like leaves.

'We can't keep this up. There are too many. Won't be long till dark now. Dinnae tha have any tricks lady?' Albanac asked as he eyed the _inferi_ which were pressing against the circle as if there were a glass wall between them and the three travellers.

'I am an enchantress, not a sorceress. I doubt that these things care for sight or appearance; most appear not to have eyes. Illusions and glamours will be of little use here. Ask the sorcerer if you want something done, now that he's revealed himself,' Heather replied testily. 'Wizard indeed! I knew he wasn't a scholar.'

'Well, Traveller?' Albanac asked.

'Not much. I might be able to stop them, but I don't know how long I'll be able to keep it up for. If it goes wrong ...' Harry left the warning hanging, deciding to leave Heather's remarks for the time being.

'We may not have a choice,' Heather said. 'If whoever breathed life into these things turns up they'll be able to rip the circle apart in seconds.'

'Why aren't they breaking in?' Harry asked, interested despite himself.

'They don't have the will for it. They don't have the capacity to use any of the magic powering them to break the charm,' Heather said, 'but if someone who has independent thought turns up ...' She let the sentence hang meaningfully.

'So as long as we stay inside the circle we're safe?' Harry asked.

'Provided none of us put so much of a whisker outside it, yes,' Heather said. 'At least from the Dead. There are worse things in this valley. The Dead might be keeping us here, but if those things find us we'd be better off slitting our own throats now.'

'Fine,' Harry growled. 'Hold onto me and don't let go. I have a very limited control over what I'm going to do.' He raised his wand to the level of his eyes and drew it down in a jagged line, 'Az-reth.'

Fire twisted outwards from the jagged cut, a deep, malevolent blood-red and at is core there was a twisting spiral of black flame. It leapt outwards, a writhing, whirling mass of heat and light. It flowed together as if trying to take form, but Harry crushed the attempt with barely a second's thought. His mind encompassed it and encircled it before crushing the spirit out of it. Then with a yell he raised his wand. Albanac and Heather clung to his robes as the fire spilt outwards obliterating the circle.

The _inferi_ screamed as one, the noise torn from their dusty throats. The twisting flame rushed over them devouring them and rising higher and higher into the sky until Harry stood at the epicentre of a raging hurricane of fire which leapt into the sky, howling. His wand twirled in his hand as he let his mind run with the fire, seeking out the Dead and consuming them.

The cursed fire flickered over the lake, flames dancing on the dark waters. Something brushed against them, driving them back. Harry started and as his concentration broke the fire turned inwards upon them. He flicked his wand upwards crouching as a dome of white fire streamed outwards. Outside the fiendfyre howled and raged against the shield, but the defence held firm, though Harry's wand arm shook with the strain. He licked his lips, closing his eyes against the glare as he concentrated; his free hand twitched as he strove to regain control over the dark fire beyond the shield. In his mind's eye he could see the long thin ribbons of fire running through the air; they snapped and snarled but he seized them, holding on tightly. He pulled upon them, dragging them to heel and outside the shield the fires died away. He heaved a sigh and let the white fire drain away, before dropping to his knees heaving in breaths as fresh air rushed in upon the stricken valley.

Natural fires, orange and yellow flickered here and there where the last remains of olive trees and grass continued to burn. Above them the moon was rising, a sliver of silver in the darkening sky. Harry panted, his left hand stung with two curling scars on the palm of his hand. They looked like old burn marks, the outer was shiny, white flesh, almost in the shape of a triangle, and the inner a circle of twisted, almost melted reddened flesh only a few millimetres wide as if he had placed a heated keyring there.

Silence fell over the lake.

* * *

The sun was rising above the hills, when Harry, Heather and Albanac came in sight of the red, sandstone walls of Trewalder. The light shone on the rosy stones and the greenish-brown waters of the river which flowed sluggishly around the low hill on which the town sat. Trees with red berries hanging from their boughs grew around the town in a broad circle; a thin wickerwork fence made from their wood ran between them. Wood smoke curled from the chimneys and the gates stood open.

Albanac, whose horse had found them during the night, came to a stop, eyeing the town. 'I must leave, m'lady, Traveller. I have business in the town and shan't be free to go with ye further.'

With a few short goodbyes he made his way up to the gates and disappeared inside. Heather made to follow, but Harry coughed and she turned reluctantly. In the light of day the change which had come over her was clearer than it had been in the dusk and mist. She was taller, but not by as much as it has seemed, and though she was older Harry could not guess by how much. Her face was ageless, she might have been anywhere between twenty and fifty, and her hair was long and a dark, rich shade of brown without a hint of silver or grey.

'Wait,' he said, 'I said I wanted a word with you. This is about as private as we're going to get.'

She hesitated and gave a short, sharp nod. She turned on her heel and dragged him across to one side underneath the stretching boughs of one of the rowan trees. Catching his expression as he looked at the wicker fence she answered his unspoken question, 'There are things out there which find a fence of rowan to be a greater barrier than stone or steel. Ask your questions then, and I shall ask mine.'

'Why? Why did you pretend to be a girl in danger? Did you kill that family? How did Albanac know who you were? What's the difference between enchantresses, wizards, and sorcerers?' He asked, counting off the questions on his fingers.

She shrugged, 'An enchantress ... enchants. I weave illusions and place magic inside objects as my mistress taught me once upon a time. A sorcerer, well you know that as well as I, you are the warriors, your kind carry fire and shadow and death with you wherever you walk. A wizard though, they are the loners, the ones who learn the secrets of the world and use them.

'Albanac met me many years ago now. He recognised the shape I wore, as I recognised him.

'I did not kill the travellers. I found their bodies on my path to you and placed my dirk and pipe within the caravan so that they would call to me if you came upon it. I felt the gate you and your friend opened. A hundred leagues away and I still felt it,' she shivered. 'How could I not investigate? You might have been a danger to me, I wanted to catch you off guard if you were. Satisfied?'

Harry considered for a moment and nodded. 'You said you had questions?'

'You know nothing of the distinctions between the practitioners, how can that be? Who was your master? You appear young, but there is something behind your eyes ... what are you running from, or towards? Can you open gates between the worlds again?'

Harry eased himself down onto the grassy bank the tree grew on. 'I was taught in a school by several wiza ... practitioners of many disciplines, in my world that was normal. I think it was over a thousand years ago that most people, at least in my part of the world, had a single teacher. I'm not running away, not anymore, if I were running towards something ...' he hesitated for an instant. 'There was a man who might have come through into this world. I don't know how long ago. I'd like to find him. As to the gates, well that was down to my friend. I wouldn't know where to begin, but I doubt that even he would find it easy. Is that everything?'

She nodded brusquely, 'For the moment. Now then, I might as well attend to business in the town, by the sounds of it we came upon market day.'

She turned as if to walk towards the gates and Harry scrambled to his feet behind her, 'Erm, could I just ask one more thing?'

'By all means,' she smiled, waiting for him.

'Is there a way I could earn some money around these parts? I don't really have anything with me,' he said, apologetically.

'Well for now I will pay, as thanks for your kindness on the road, and I will do my best to help you find your friends. In the longer term, perhaps some mercenary work? Many sorcerers work as guards for merchant caravans, or petty lordlings. Some are tomb-robbers and treasure hunters too. I believe the pay is good, there are few who can wield power well. There are of course the Shadow-Wars in the North, but few return from those, I would not recommend it. Come with me and we shall see if there is a merchant looking for fresh guards at the market.'

The marketplace buzzed with noises, sights and smells as Harry walked behind Heather, trying not to lose her in the press. People of all kinds mingled together, beggars and merchants, country-folk and townsmen. They were dressed in a medley of bright, vibrant colours, purples, yellows, blues and whites, but most of all red filled the market in a score of hues. There was hardly a person present without at least a red ribbon here or there on their clothing; the women wore red shawls; the men's belts were of red leather with thick, black, iron buckles, and many of the children who darted through the crowd wore small red cloaks and hoods.

Heather stopped every now and then to ask a quick, hushed question of a passer-by before correcting her course around the packed and winding alleys of the town. They would their way through the traders hawking their wares, the jugglers, fiddlers and the fire eaters.

'What exactly are we looking for?' Harry asked as they passed the same corner from a new direction for the fourth time.

'The local wise-woman, of course, the Moirai. One of _that_ kindred will know what you ought to do to find your answers. Then we'll hit the merchants and see who needs a sorcerer. They'll be all over you like dogs with meat,' Heather said turning around three times anti-clockwise before opening a small, narrow door of dark, smoky wood in the wall. 'Come on, three times widdershins and follow me.' She vanished inside the door which clicked shut behind her.

Harry reached out to lift the latch, but it slipped through his fingers leaving him holding nothing; he tried again with the same result before sighing, turning three-times anti-clockwise and trying again. The door opened and he stepped through into a flagstone hall lit only by a pale radiance. There was another larger door in front of them which Heather knocked on. A slot opened at eye height and a pair of yellow eyes looked out. 'Yes?'

'We're here to see the Moirai. I am known as Heather and he is the Traveller,' Heather said.

'What do you want?'

'We are looking for a long-lost friend and seek advice.'

'That will cost you,' the person behind the door warned.

'How much?' Heather asked.

There was a pause as the door-keeper considered, 'The colour of his eyes.'

'Far too pricy. Fetch your mistress. We will deal with her,' Heather ordered.

There was a supressed hiss and then the slot in the door shut. They waited in the small, stone chamber. A few minutes later the door opened and the serving girl beckoned them inside. She led them through the house and up the stairs into a cosy sitting room. An elderly lady with long, silver hair and blue eyes was sitting in a rocking chair by the window, as they entered she turned to smile at them.

'Ah. I did not expect to see you again,' the elderly woman said, nodding to Heather. 'Come have a seat. Little Starling will fetch us some refreshments.'

'Thank you, I hadn't realised you were here. This is a friend: Traveller,' Heather said, sitting without hesitation.

'You too young man, sit. What may I do for you? Aneira would not help unless she thought you worth the effort,' she smiled gently, eyes twinkling.

'Aneira?' Harry asked.

'One of my use-names,' Heather explained.

'Ah. Well, forgive me madam, but I feel obliged to ask the price for your help? I have very little with which to pay,' Harry said apologetically.

The woman waved her hand gently, 'I do not charge. People give me what they can. If you cannot give me something then please give help to another when you can.'

'I'm surprised you have enough to live on with a mantra like that Argenta,' Heather said with a shake of her head.

'I do well enough. If you are kind you will receive kindness in return. Now then, ask what you will Traveller.'

Harry sat down on the settle which ran against one wall and looked across at her, meeting her gaze. The sunlight caught her silvery hair turning it into a halo around her head. 'I ... I think I might need to explain a little first. I don't come from this world. When I was fifteen my godfather disappeared through a gateway, a tear in reality. Until recently I believed that device only killed. But, I came through it myself, recently. He may be or have been in this world, if he is I need to find him. I can give you his name if that would help, Heather implied that sort of thing was possible here.'

'They say so, but I could not do it. Such magic is greater my small craft,' the lady said softly. 'I am one of the Moirai, we only advise, such powers are beyond us. How long has it been since he disappeared?'

'I don't know if time runs at the same speed between dimensions. If it does then about a hundred and fifty years, I think,' Harry said, 'I may well be looking for nothing more than a grave.'

'In which case you would need more than merely his name,' the lady said, pausing as the servant returned with a plate of biscuits and a pewter jug and a set of wooden cups. 'Thank you Starling, would you fetch the runes for me? I will do my best to determine what you need to do, Traveller. I fear that your name will be well earnt, for the road may be long ere you have your answers. Was there anything else you wished to ask of me whilst my Starling is away? She does have sharp ears.'

'I need to find another man. He came with me through the portal. He was taken from us on our way here ...'

'In the Great Necropolis,' Heather added.

'Indeed? Well that should be a simpler task, first the runes though.'

The serving girl returned with a small, velvet bag which she placed on the table beside the lady and scurried away, taking care to shut the door behind her. Harry eyed the bag dubiously, his previous experiences with divination had not left him particularly comfortable or confident in the practice.

'How exactly does this work?' He asked after a brief pause as the lady picked up the bag and loosed the strings.

'It works in many ways. I will make three castings for you: one for your future, and one for each of your questions. You need only concern yourself with this: pick out five runes and lay them face down upon the table. Your hand will guide you. I will tell you the meaning of the runes, and I may glimpse what is to come more fully once that is done,' the lady said holding out the bag to Harry.

He suppressed a derisive snort and reached into the bag. The runes were small and smooth under his fingers, like pebbles worn by the tide. He laid them out one at a time in a row on the table. They were old, yellow, polished bone.

'Concentrate your mind upon the runes,' she commanded and flipped over the first rune. It was a lightning bolt, Harry's hand rose to the scar on his forehead, a mirror image of the rune. ' _Sowilo_ , the sun. Your story began with a triumph, a victory against the odds.'

She flipped over the next rune. ' _Eihwaz_ reversed. The middle of your life has been determined by this rune, it is the yew tree. Naturally a rune of stability, patience and strength, but like this it is a rune of conflict, anger and pits you against power and hatred.'

She flipped over the third rune. 'The present. _Perthro_ , the vessel. You stand at a cross-roads, at this moment you can change your fate, walk away from your past or confront it. Whatever you do there are secrets surrounding you, secrets you would do well to discover.' There was barely a pause as she moved to the penultimate rune. 'The sacrifice you may make, depending upon your choice. _Teiwaz_ , the rune of the warrior. If you make your stand in the days to come the price you pay will be to yourself, walk down the road you intend and it may well be the end of you.'

'And the fifth rune?' Harry asked as she paused looking at the last one.

'It is what will be, if you do not follow your intentions. Are you sure you wish to know?'

'This is too vague for me to know what to do or what not to do. I might as well have an idea of the worst, even if I don't know how to avoid getting there,' he said with a shrug.

She nodded and turned over the last rune, it looked like a capital H with a slanted cross-bar, ' _Hagalaz_ : the storm. If you fail then that failure will unleash old powers. I can feel it. The wind is rising, sail well Traveller, for when the storm breaks we will all need safe havens.'

Harry looked at her for a long moment. There was a deadly earnest in her face and for an instant he almost felt her fear. The moment passed though and she sighed, sitting back.

'Are you quite alright, Argenta?' Heather asked.

'Quite. Thank you for asking,' the old lady said. 'I think we'll just do a three rune spread for the questions. That took more out of me than I expected. You are a dangerous man Traveller.'

'The same as before, just with three?' Harry asked as she put the runes back into the bag, she nodded and he reached in pulling them out and laying them face down on the table.

She turned them over one at a time, waiting until she had finished to give an explanation. ' _Wunjo_ , fellowship and joy is what you seek in your long lost friend; _Raidho_ , the journey, is your present, whatever solution you find will take a great deal of wandering; _Ansuz_ , the lord of runes and knowledge, will be the end of the road for you, you will find the answer, though I do not know if you will find him.' She closed her eyes and held her hands above the runes for a moment, her lips working soundlessly. 'I see a hall of ivy; I see a crowned man; I see a pool of water. I see a lonely traveller on a winding road, behind him walks a man in black,' she opened her eyes, 'I would not pursue this question, it is perilous. The Green Man of Knowledge will know the answers if you feel bound to seek them. Beware though, the road is perilous for there are dragons and worse in those parts.'

'Which way do I have to go? How do I find him?' Harry asked, leaning forward.

'I do not know. The road to him is twisted. There are many paths and not all of them are of stone and earth. Time is a road, one which runs in two directions, though we may only ever glance behind us and never turn back. If you keep your search in mind I think you will find him in time. Search, East of the Sun and West of the Moon, only through chance will you find him. Now for the second question.'

Harry pulled three more runes out from the bag. Argenta reached out her hand to flip over the first and then with a hiss the three slivers of bone shattered. Heather gasped and Harry shot to his feet as the elderly woman stared at the broken runes in shock.

'What does that mean?' Harry asked nervously, sitting back down.

'It means that there is a power shielding your friend from any magic I can do. If I am any judge it is all too possible that the Fair Folk have him,' she sat back shaken. 'Mourn him.'

The awkward silence was broken when Heather leant forward and took one of the cups and a biscuit, 'Well that's different. I suppose you'll need a new set of runes now then?'

Argenta smiled gently, 'At a price I presume?'

'Of course, nothing too outrageous. Is this blackberry cordial? It really is delicious ...'

The conversation drifted away from the subject of the shattered runes and the three of them slowly relaxed. At length Harry offered to bespell the roof against rain and wind for the wise-woman who happily accepted and once the spell had been cast they turned to go.

'It should last a year or two at the least. If I return this way I'll see that it is touched up,' Harry promised.

'Not to worry dear, but thank you all the same. Before you go, take a rune. This set is no more use to me, but it may help you remember your path when you need it most,' Argenta said holding out the bag to him.

He hesitated, but catching the look in her eyes he reached in and pulled out a small piece of bone. He turned it over. On the other side were three lines forming a rune like an elongated 'p'.

'Thurisaz. A good rune. You're a lucky man, and a strong one. Remember to stay firm and you'll come through this,' she said, patting him on the arm.

'Thank you,' Harry said and with that he followed Heather and left. Once they were outside he turned to Heather, 'Is she a relation of yours? An aunt or your mother?'

Heather chuckled, 'My mother? Goodness no. She's one of _my_ daughters. Come now we better look for someone to hire you in the market.'

'What do you expect to get from all this? She seemed to think you wouldn't do something for free,' Harry said, warily as he followed her.

'You saved my life, I have a debt to pay. Maybe you'll help me again someday anyway,' she added, noting the sceptical look which crossed his face.

In the room above them the old lady looked down at the fragments of the shattered runes. The larger parts almost seemed to form a slightly distorted capital H.


	6. Chapter 6

Voldemort ached, pebbles dug into his back, he groaned. He could vaguely remember reaching the shore, coughing up water and collapsing. His clothes were icy and dripping. There was a smooth voice speaking nearby.

'How did he manage that? He should have drowned,' the voice asked, intrigued. 'Did he drown? Thomas, Henry, check him. See if he is alive.'

Voldemort remained still, barely breathing as feet crunched over the pebbles towards him. A warm hand touched his throat to check his pulse. His eyes snapped open and he smiled. The man leaning over him was pale with a face covered in small, black pits as if it had been melted; he started in shock as Voldemort locked eyes with him. Then Voldemort rolled to the side, lashing out with his arm, knocking the man over.

Voldemort rolled into a crouch. His wand flashed out, 'Lacero.' A thin line of orange light whipped out slicing through the man's throat. Blood gushed out flowing over the white pebbles. Voldemort looked around, there were two men on the beach, the gloaming hung heavy around them, casting long shadows over the beach.

The closer of the two was bare-headed, with the build of a badger and glossy, black hair. He held a long, cruel sword in one hand and wore a dark brown coat, several sizes too large. He shuffled slowly closer, watching Voldemort warily. The other, slightly further away leant nonchalantly on a black and silver cane. He wore a black frock-coat and a stiff, high collared white shirt which almost shone in the early moonlight, only matched by the pallor of his cheeks.

Voldemort hesitated as the man waited smiling. He lowered his wand slowly and straightened up. 'Good evening.'

The gentleman in black laughed brightly. 'Good evening. You are a marvel. Do stop creeping around Henry, you'll upset the gentleman. I can see you are a gentleman, sir, such poise, such strength,' he smiled, dark eyes glinting.

'Certainly, sir,' the short man said, gruffly, walking back across the beach reluctantly.

'Wonderful. Now sir, who are you? Most men drown when in a trance, you simply swim through it; most men have the most deplorable hesitation when it comes to dispatching one of their kind, you do it with admirable alacrity. Please, I'm dying to become better acquainted,' the gentleman said.

Voldemort smiled thinly. Across the lake flames blossomed. They soared up into the sky, spreading out through the mist, lighting it with a hellish glow. 'I have many names ...'

'Well that won't do at all. I cannot call you I-Have-Many-Names; I do have many names, it would be confusing. However, out of the beneficence of my heart I shall grant you another name. Henry, do we have a Richard at the moment?' The gentleman asked, spinning round to peer at his servant.

'Yes sir.'

'Well we can't use that one then. How about a John?'

'You ordered him to be torn to pieces by horses tomorrow morning, sir. If you would just wait ...'

'Don't be ridiculous Henry. I cannot leave this poor man nameless. What about Thomas? Do we have a Tom at the moment?' The gentleman asked swiping at a pebble with his cane, sending it spiralling out over the lake where it skimmed across the water before sinking with a quiet 'plop'.

'The nameless gentleman just cut his throat sir,' Henry said patiently, casting a speculative cast at Voldemort.

'Did he indeed? Well that makes everything so much easier,' the gentleman said, without a trace of irony. 'Kill the man and take the name, those are the old rules after all.' He looked delighted at the thought. 'Therefore Nameless I present you with the gift of a name, you shall be known as Thomas,' he said and strode across the beach towards Voldemort.

Voldemort gave a slight, forced smile. Despite himself he had to admit that the gentleman had a certain aura around himself; there was a sense of feral danger to him, lurking beneath the neat, suited exterior. Even his walk across the beach was the cool, controlled stride of a predator, utterly at ease in its environment. Closer to his appearance was almost surreal. His skin was perfect, without a single blemish, and had a pearl-like sheen; the pupils of his eyes were almost too large, and his eyebrows ended in a curious flourish. He looked as if an artist had been told the principles of human beauty but lacked any understanding of humanity.

Then, half a dozen feet away from Voldemort he stopped as a rolling wave of dark fire spread out across the lake. The gentleman turned like a cat, raising his cane and the waters of the lake boiled and flowed upwards. The flames twisted away from them, turning into jets of steam. Then with a wailing howl they shuddered and changed direction, rushing back upon their source. Voldemort stood his ground, but barely. He had tasted the scent of the fiendfyre.

The gentleman turned back to Voldemort, seemingly forgetting the incident. 'There is an air about you Tom, something I have not sensed for four thousand years. Tell me, do you come from this world?'

Voldemort took a long moment to look at the gentleman. The man was calm, self-assured and with an arrogant tilt to his head. Voldemort choose his words carefully, 'You are most perceptive; I have come from far away. I would discuss it further, but I fear my present state, wet and bedraggled as I am would inhibit our conversation.'

The gentleman clapped his hands delightedly, 'My, my, what excellent manners. Henry, go and fetch the horses. The puppets have been destroyed and I have a wonderful prize, particularly if it holds more ideas like those little playthings. Thomas, allow me to invite you to be a guest in my house.'

'I would of course be delighted. I fear, however, it would only be proper for me to re-join my companions, they may miss my presence...' Voldemort began.

A shadow flickered over the gentleman's face and he turned to look out over the lake, 'I must say that sounds almost ungrateful. I can assure you that I can offer exquisite company. Perhaps I ought to remove the dilemma ...' he stretched out his hand and ripples began to run over the surface of the lake.

'Wait!' Voldemort said, 'I only thought to bid him farewell. You see I only feared that it would be improper to visit your house when I do not even know your name.' He paused for a moment as the gentleman lowered his hand. Voldemort slowly let out a tiny sigh of relief, trying to ignore the question of why he felt it.

The gentleman turned back to him, 'Of course, you are correct. It really is most unforgivable for me to invite you without introducing myself. I am the lord of the Whispering Towers, the Weeping Halls, Cold Comfort, Red Hill, and Joyous Guard, the master of Lament amongst my other lands and houses, men know me as Hyrne, The Grey Neighbour, Arbata, a captain of Nuada's host, Elcmar, Nyyrikki, the Lord of Doors, and many other names. I invite you to my house.'

Voldemort awoke gradually. He was in a large, four poster bed with clean, white sheets and a green counterpane. The dark pillars of the posts rose up around him like great trees. Around him the green curtains were covered in elaborate, tapestry-like patterns. They showed scenes of hunters and strange beasts galloping through wild woods; savage, ape like creatures in red ran before green huntsmen; fair maidens and knights lounged before sparkling fountains and before elaborate, pavilions.

He sat up and pulled the curtains open. The room was softly lit, though he could not tell its source. Whenever he turned his head one way it seemed as if he must come from the other side.

He blinked slowly at the room, trying to remember how he had come to be there. Henry had returned with three, ash-grey horses which pranced and snorted till hands had been laid on their bridles. Their feet had been shod with silver and they had bright, green eyes like wild garlic leaves. Hyrne had mounted his steed with a springing leap and Voldemort had followed with greater trepidation.

Then the memories broke apart like the fragments of a dream. He remembered riding, though he had never ridden before. The horse had answered his every whim and they had galloped faster and faster on forest trails lit by moonlight, and over purple moors beneath star light. Hyrne had laughed as he spurred his horse to leap chasms and at last they had arrived at the house.

It was at the house that the memories split in two. He remembered arriving at the gates of a great mansion, half castle and half stately home. Turrets towered across steep, slate roofs. Candlelight and firelight glinted from the windows. There was laughter and music from inside the hall. The gates opened and they were greeted by footmen dressed in neat black uniforms. Hyrne leapt from his horse, handing it to a footman and bowed to Voldemort, 'Welcome to Lament, the oldest and finest of my houses.'

Yet he remembered riding to the foot of a great hill with craggy outcrops and bleak screes. There was a great boulder of stone which lay at the foot of the hill and Hyrne called out a word as he reached it. The boulder shook and split apart with the noise of thunder revealing a dark passage. Man-shaped creatures came to greet them; things with faces covered in spines, fur or feathers; tall, pale figures with hollow cheeks and shadowy eyes, and amongst them a handful of men and women dressed in rags who bowed and scraped before the master of the house. Hyrne leapt from his horse, handing it to a dark creature with a stooped back and narrow, glinting eyes. He turned to Voldemort, smiling broadly, 'Welcome to Lament, the oldest and finest of my houses.'

Voldemort rubbed his eyes, but he could not reconcile the two memories. He slipped out of the bed looking around for clothes, but there seemed none in sight. His wand was beside his bed, but everything else was gone. For a moment he panicked, searching frantically for the playing card before he found it in pocket of the antique nightgown he was wearing. He sat down, on the bed relieved, before remembering that he was still missing any clothes. Looking around for a moment he spied a fine red bell cord and pulled on it. As he waited he washed with the silver basin in the corner of the room and a few, quick charms.

A servant, a small man with tufts of white hair like cotton and a coat at least a size too large bustled into the room a few moments later. 'Good morning, sir,' he croaked, and then he started as he looked at Voldemort. Without another word and shut the door quietly behind him. 'Ah you are the new mortal gentleman, sir.'

Voldemort hesitated for a moment and nodded, 'Yes, that is correct. You are ...? Or are you about to tell me that giving me your name is dangerous?'

'Oh no sir, that's superstitious nonsense. I am Geoffrey, sir,' he sidled closer. 'You are in grave danger sir. We humans, amongst the servants and guests, stick together.' He pulled a small box out of his pocket, and presented it to Voldemort. 'Things are not as they seem here. There is an ointment in this box which will let you see the truth. Some prefer not to see it, they say it helps, but we offer the choice to all of our kin who come to this place.'

'Indeed? How does it work?' Voldemort asked, eyeing the box gingerly.

'Place a little of it on each eyelid and you will always see the truth,' Geoffrey said, looking at Voldemort with watery eyes.

'And if just on one eyelid?'

Geoffrey hesitated, 'If you are strong enough one eye might give you a choice as to what world you see, but many go mad that way.'

Voldemort looked at it for a moment. 'Put some on yourself. I do not wish to discover this is a trick. I presume you have used it?'

'Yes sir,' said the little man who turned it towards himself, opened it and dabbed a little on each of his own eyelids. He blinked once and the ointment faded into nothing. He looked up at Voldemort again and held out the box again.

Voldemort took it slowly and teased the lid open. Inside the box was a pale, green cream which smelt faintly of thyme and rosemary. He picked up his wand from the bedside table and waved it gently over the ointment. 'There's nothing magical or poisonous in this. It is just a medley of herbs. If you are trying to fool me ...' Voldemort left the sentence hanging. The small servant bobbed nervously as Voldemort dipped a finger into the ointment and spread it on a single eyelid before cleaning his hand with a wave of his wand. The ointment was cool and tingled on his skin, then he blinked and it melted like a snowflake on the skin. He opened his eyes slowly and colours whipped across his vision in an incomprehensible swirl. Despite himself he grabbed the post of the bed, holding himself up as he closed his eyes again.

'Please sir, concentrate on my voice,' the servant said calmly, 'it takes some people this way. Just open your eyes slowly, one at a time, the one you put the ointment on first.'

Voldemort opened his eyes slowly. The grandeur of the room bled away around him. The servant was the same as ever, though now he wore only old, tattered versions of his uniform, stained with tallow and grease. The rest of the room was more markedly different: the tapestries were gone leaving dark, bare, rocky walls; the bell cord was a rotted, brown string; the bedclothes were old and moth-eaten and the room was only lit by a single, small fissure high rocky dome of the ceiling.

'Well, if the décor is anything to go by it's going to be a devil to get good boots around here,' Voldemort said after a moment's pause, releasing the bedpost.

'You, ah, you are quite well now sir?' The servant asked, eyeing Voldemort nervously.

'If you had seen the sights I have seen I think that this would not shock you,' Voldemort said. 'Now is there anything in this place suitable for me to wear? In black.'

The servant blinked apologetically. 'Certainly sir,' he said, scurrying over to the dusty wood-worm ridden armoire which stood in the corner. He rooted through it extracting various pieces of clothing whilst Voldemort experimented with his vision, practicing varying between truth and illusion.

'What is this place Geoffrey?' Voldemort asked as the servant took his measurements.

'This is the house of Lament, sir,' the servant said, carefully removing Voldemort's nightgown as he began to dress him.

'Yes, but what precisely does that mean? What did you mean by 'human' servants and guests? What differentiates us? Is the master of the house not a human?'

'It is the brugh, the seat of the Master. I meant, sir, that the first are those who the Master brought here for our usefulness; the second are those the Master has brought here for his amusement and their company. The Master and his cousins are ... they are blue blooded. Some of the servants are lesser Sidhe, hirelings, bondsmen to the Master. You understand sir,' the servant explained as he slipped a crisp, cream shirt over his shoulders

'Of course,' Voldemort said, nodding. 'Blue blooded though ... they are nobles?'

'They are the Gentry, sir,' Geoffrey murmured as he selected an embroidered waistcoat and a pair of fine, black trousers.

'You seem to be rather freer with information than I would expect a servant to be, why is that? Why did my host bring you here?' Voldemort asked curiously.

'I have been assigned to your service as your valet sir. I do not expect that service to end until my death. As such, after my loyalty to the Master my loyalty is to you. I was brought here when I was young for my skills as a tailor,' he smiled faintly.

Voldemort nodded as the servant fixed mother of pearl cufflinks to the shirt and pulled out a silken cravat. It was neither black nor grey but a curious mixture of the two, it was in point of fact the colour of despair. As Geoffrey tied it with careful, precise movements around Voldemort's throat Voldemort glanced towards the wardrobe, it looked far too small for the selection of clothes the servant had removed from it.

'Have you ever thought to leave?' Voldemort asked as servant selected a pair of sleek, black shoes.

'Oh no sir. One does not leave the Master's society or service. You seem a man of character, sir, but I would not favour your chances against them.'

'I think I killed one of them last night, a fellow named Thomas ...'

'I fear Thomas Goodfellow was one of us, sir. The Gentleman's cousins are ... more,' the servant said apologetically.

'A pity. You say that one does not leave your master's society ...'

'Oh no sir. I expect to be in his service to his death. Many of his guests remain until they are no more, some remain until their skeletons are no more than dust,' the servant said calmly.

'Till one dies? I hardly think I shall remain that long,' Voldemort said with an attempt at a light chuckle. 'Tell me, this house seems, well rather fallen into disrepair, how come you have a suitable array of clothes. Your own are ... not of the finest cut.'

'The master insists upon the guests being well dressed. Servants make do with whatever glamours he sees fit to provide. I would not mention the, ah, state of disrepair, sir. He does not take it well,' Geoffrey warned quietly as he presented Voldemort with a black, frock coat. 'Now sir, may I convey the Master's wish that you attend upon him in the library as soon as possible?'

Voldemort stood looking out of the window as he waited for the Gentleman in the library. The room itself held hardly any books, despite its name, those that it did were written in strange marks which he could make neither head nor tail of. In the corners there were piled old, decaying scrolls of papyrus, many of which virtually disintegrated at even the lightest touch. The gold tinted view of the house which the glamours clamoured to impose upon on his sight, nor the bleak vision which underlay it with its single candle and shifting shadows were alike for once in that neither changed the disorder of the library.

The view from the window lay only upon an expanse of moorland and in the far distance a line of dark pines. Rain fell in sheets outside and an icy breeze whistled past. Puddles lay upon the ground reflecting the chill grey sky so that the two blended together. Voldemort shivered and turned away. He barely restrained himself from flinching as he found himself face to face with Hyrne. His host seemed more relaxed, he was dressed in a dove-grey morning-suit and his eyes spark with life.

'Good morning, Tom, good morning. I must say you have chosen the most superb of the views in the library to look out from. I knew you were a man of taste of course, but this only confirms it,' Hyrne said delightedly.

'Indeed? I fear I may not have quite the eyes to see this view properly. I see moor and woodlands, and little else,' Voldemort said. He had decided that quietly removing the fairy's interest in him was the best course, then at least there would be little reason for any to attempt to prevent him leaving.

'Ah, but your noble spirit evidently guided you here. The moor lies beyond, as you so astutely observe,' the fairy replied with a secretive smile. 'It was on that moor, oh some two hundred years ago, that we slaughtered the armies of the City of the Burning Sea. They came in the summer, you see, and we led them a merry dance over wood and dale as we turned summer into winter around them. Every night we sang in their ears and slew their sentries until the entire army was sleepless. Some froze in their beds at night, some killed themselves to escape our songs. When they reached the moor they were almost ready to surrender. The heather and the earth as our faithful allies bound them fast once they set foot on the moor and then we fell upon them. It was glorious. We left their bodies to feed the heather and the earth as recompense for their aid.'

'Were there no survivors?' Voldemort asked despite himself.

'Oh there were, some we threw from the cliffs and their screams still echo in the rocks there; some we gave to the birds and the beasts, tying them to the stones on the moor till they were taken. Two we allowed to return and spread the tale of their defeat. The rest we amused ourselves with.'

'Ah,' Voldemort said, giving a small, forced smile. 'It does sound a most complete victory.'

Hyrne smiled with pride and nodded graciously. 'Now dear Tom I trust you are enjoying your stay in my mansion. Is it not the finest house you have seen? I discern from your expression that it must be. Nevertheless, life should not be constrained to a single house, no matter how delightful it is. My cousin, the late lord of Lost Hope understood that all too well before his untimely demise. A noble fellow, if a little too fixated with dancing,' he said leading Voldemort out of the library and into the warren of dimly lit passages which seemed to fill the house. 'You should not fear though, I am no bore, oft of an evening this house is filled with dancing, music and gaiety. Indeed, the new master of Lost Hope is so fixed upon putting his house in order, even three and a half centuries after he took it for his own, that I would wager this is now one of the most lively houses in all the realms that ever were.'

'All the realms?' Voldemort asked sharply.

'Indeed, you are a traveller upon the roads yourself, are you not? I seem to recall you telling me so. Mortals are often so attached to their own home, do you not find it so? It is part the cause for my admiration of your spirit, dear Tom. You are of such quality that you have transcended the bounds your species puts upon itself in coming to this realm to seek me,' the fairy said confidently as he strode down a corridor. Servants melted into the shadows at his approach, ladies curtsied and gentlemen bowed.

'I ...' Voldemort hesitated, unsure if it would be wise to tell the fairy that his arrival had had nothing to do with any desire to meet him. 'It has been a pleasure like no other to meet you,' he said eventually.

The fairy nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world that Voldemort should have supposedly sought him out from one dimension to another. He clicked his fingers and a door opened in the wall before them, they passed through the shadows of its arch. In the blink of an eye whilst they were under the arch Hyrne's clothing changed into riding clothes. 'Now Tom, allow me to invite you to join the hunt,' he said turning to him with a smile, before them waited a score of grey horses, and riders, black coated, yellow eyed hounds hounds padded around their keepers. Towards the back of the party, in the shadows beyond Voldemort's sight a pale, gaunt figure in black sat upon a white horse.

Voldemort smiled and nodded as genuinely as he could. If the servant, Geoffrey, had been correct he would need the fairy's trust and friendship if he were to make a strike sudden and devastating enough to destroy him, 'I would be delighted.'

'Then let us ride!' Hyrne said, swinging himself into the saddle.

The doors to the stables opened before them. The hounds were loosed.


	7. Chapter 7

Summer turned to autumn outside Lament and Voldemort made no progress discovering any weakness of the fairy's. Voldemort soon found that he was rarely Hyrne's first priority as he was easily distracted. When not spending time with one of his many guests the fairy was often absent, though where no-one could say. As such when Voldemort's time was not occupied with the dances, feasts, processions, and most frequently the hunts which the Gentleman ordered at will, most of his time was his own. Gradually he tested the limits of his magic in this world.

Lament continually intrigued him. It was a vast, rambling warren of tunnels; grim rooms of grey and black stone with chilly floors, lit by only occasional candles, and endless spiralling stairways. There were a seemingly endless number of servants keeping the house in order at any one time. However, desire this the despite this the house appeared to be gradually slipping into disrepair. Although they lived far below the guests they were barely below the surface relatively speaking. There were deeper places in the hill, stairs and shafts stretched down far, far further. There were entire abandoned wings; doorways sealed with great, bronze bars, and empty, dusty halls. Voldemort found he could walk for hours with only the company of his own footsteps. He wandered through rooms where the dust lay so thickly it could have been snow; there sunlight lanced down from high windows despite the shadow which lay heavily over Lament.

The day was growing old as he strode along a hallway he had not explored before, wandering further and further from the centre of the burgh. He had spent weeks gradually exploring, testing the boundaries of the 'hospitality' the master of the house offered. The glamours were weaker at the edges of the mansion. The walls were in a state of disrepair and gaped with holes letting in watery sunlight and creeping plants. He turned left down a corridor paved in perfect circles without gaps between the lines of the slabs. His eyes watered if he looked at them for too long and so he kept them up, scanning the damp, mossy walls.

Doors ran along the walls of the next corridor he turned into, nestling next to one another, doorframes touching. He chose one at random and opened it, peering in. There was a large room beyond, red silks hung from the ceiling and covered lanterns burnt around a low dais. The air was rich with the scent of spices and smoke. There were no other doors inside the room. Voldemort paused for a moment, stepped back and opened the next door along.

As he opened the door a chilly gust blew over his face and he almost flinched. Snow lay across the ground in a forest of ice. Trees of blue and white crystals stretched into the distance. Icicles hung from branches like pine needles. A wind whispered through the wood setting the leaves of ice tinkling like a thousand tiny bells. Small swirls of snow rose from the ground dancing towards the open door. The shadows stretched outwards, moving over the ground. Voldemort shivered as he shut the door, he cast a locking spell upon it before moving on.

There were doors which led to vast deserts of pale sand; doors to endless turquoise seas, and doors to a city where hunched figures in orange robes stumbled along between buildings made from wax underneath a shimmering, silver sky. Voldemort hurried on, only glancing in. He had pondered the possibility of leaving the burgh, sneaking away, but the greater the number of doors he glanced into the more certain he became that it was not an option.

At last he left the corridor, and came upon a gap in the wall, wider than the others. It looked out onto the barren moorland Voldemort had become accustomed to on the hunts. He hesitated, even with the ability to see through glamours at will the burgh was rarely what it seemed, but the possibility that he could simply slip away was too tempting. The fairy had shown little in the way of exceptional magical prowess since the night he had quashed the fiendfyre, but the house appeared a reflection of its master with an age and strength Voldemort had no interest in testing.

He stepped out, over the rough cracked stones and onto the heather. The grey sky was empty of birds and the air was absolutely still. Heather crunched under his feet as he began to walk towards a patch of woodlands, just visible over the next rise. Black water seeped upwards from the earth where he trod. He hurried onwards, a black figure on a bleak hillside, leaving the burgh behind him before long.

The woods were damp and dark. Nets of brown brambles and interlocking branches were everywhere. He picked his way onwards, ducking under the thicker branches and pushing the nets of twigs out of the way with a broken branch. In the trees silent shapes slithered, always at the edge of sight. A thin mist rose as Voldemort walked onwards, determined to put as much space as possible between himself and the burgh. Tiny beads of water clung to him and hung in the air.

After half an hour or so he came to a particularly dense thicket. Rather than let himself be turned around by the wood he pressed forwards, slashing with the stick he had taken, and his wand. Pushing the last branches aside with the stick he stepped forwards; his feet met cold white marble and he looked up, heart sinking. He was in a ballroom of black and marble, men and women in clothes of black or white danced around each other like chess pieces caught in an eternal game.

'Tom!' A voice called from across the room. 'How delightful to see you here. I had sent a servant to find you, but they are the idlest fellows in the world, it is a pleasure to see you could make it, though your entrance was most unusual.'

Voldemort gave a strained smile as the fairy approached. 'Your ballroom is most unusual in itself. I can assure you that were it not for that my entrance would have been the last thing on your mind.' He glanced behind him the wall was decorated with a façade of twisting, black branches on white, but there was no sign that it had been a real thicket moments before.

'You are too kind. Allow me to introduce you to my dear neighbour, this is the Lady,' the fairy said gesturing elegantly to a tall woman with sharp blue eyes like pins and golden hair which drifted around her underneath a crown of feathers. 'Lady, this is my most esteemed guest, Thomas.'

She smiled, blood-red lips curved upwards and there was a flash of sharp white teeth. 'A pleasure to meet you, Thomas. My lord, will you allow me to spirit him away for a dance?'

'By all means, Lady, be careful with him, he is of mortal stock.'

The Lady took Voldemort's hand and before he could protest or give an excuse she drew him away and into the dance. Her hand, clad in a white, kid-skin glove was as hard and cold as stone. 'Tell me, _Tom_ , how long have you been his lordship's guest?' The Lady asked.

'A little while, madam,' he replied, neatly stepping around her as the couples on the dancefloor circled.

'And do you like it here?' She asked. Her dress twisted in misstep, billowing out of another dancer's way and over the snowy fabric Voldemort saw a tiny black fissures form and dissolve as if the dress were made of a single piece of porcelain.

'I have rarely seen anywhere like it.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Why bother not to lie, when you do not take care to conceal the truth?'

'If I were to lie that would be an insult in its own right, if I choose to take care with my words, who here would fault me for doing so? At least it gives me some small pleasure. Do you disapprove?'

'Not at all. I have never had his lordship's interest in pets in any case. Why should I care if one of his does not enjoy the gilded cage?'

Voldemort suppressed a twitch of irritation, and smiled. 'I am sure your ladyship has misunderstood.'

'Of course,' she said, inclining her head towards him, 'I am sure that when the time comes for you to leave it will be … _tragic_.'

'Tragedy is so rarely far from any house. It could strike at any time. I am sure your ladyship would mourn were anything to occur,' Voldemort said, if she had decided to put out the bait it was at least worth a nibble.

'My feelings would be beyond compare. Imagine that _he_ was inconsolable, or struck by tragedy himself. I would be obliged to help maintain these lands. However, he is of course remarkably resilient so I imagine he would survive any normal accident,' she murmured.

'Indeed, we must be thankful for his extra-ordinary good health. It is fortunate he has so few weaknesses,' Voldemort replied with as much sincerity as he could muster.

'Too true. He guards his life most carefully. I fear that I must warn him of a plot against him though, he may well need your support in the days ahead. I trust you will be there for him?'

'How could I fail to be?' Voldemort muttered as they spun between the dancers.

* * *

The hunts were the centre of life in the _burgh_. Hyrne's favoured guests and relatives gathered and the riders flowed forth from the hill. Hounds ran before them, baying. The fairy invariably took the lead urging his favourite mare onwards over rough tors and down winding valleys. The hunters were of two kinds: the first were tall and pale with fine, sharp cheekbones, skin as smooth as polished marble, and dark hair and eyes; the others were a more motley collection, men and women with all shades of hair and all heights, and though all were beautiful they rode in silence.

The Gentleman's closest consorts were all of the former and were clad in holly-green with silver buckles and harnesses, silver threads wound through their hair. On their saddles rested black bows chased in silver and they wore long blades of tempered bronze. They rode beside him, and as such were always foremost amongst the hunters.

Three months passed until, while hunting, the hounds' handlers returned with the news that an unusual scent had been picked up. Voldemort saw the head-handler whisper something to Hyrne who raised a horn to his lips and blew a long melancholy cry. The handlers whispered to the hounds and they loped ahead noses to the scent. Their baying echoed off the grey hills sending a chill through Voldemort.

The wind whipped their faces till they began to descend into a valley. The trail wound down through woodland, too steep and overgrown in many places for the horses. Eventually they dismounted, leaving a handful of the hunters with the horses. Water dripped from the trees and the fallen leaves slid underfoot. Lichen hung in pale, green nets from branches and thick moss covered entire trees around them. Voldemort floated slightly above the ground weaving easily through the undergrowth.

Once or twice he thought he caught a glimpse of something red dashing between the trees. The hounds circled outwards, closing the net around the prey which crossed and re-crossed the swift running stream which fell in white waterfalls down the valley. The hounds' paws tore up the earth so that Voldemort could not see the prints of their prey and could only follow the hounds.

Eventually at the heart of the wooded valley they came upon the ruins of a building. What it had once been was almost impossible to tell. Now only two walls and a single, slate pillar survived. Around the building though there ran a fence of slabs of slate, like jagged teeth. Joining this fence together were ancient, rusted pieces of iron. At the gateway lay a recently broken branch covered in scarlet berries, it glistening in the dripping rain.

The hounds padded around the fence, teeth bared in soundless snarls. Hyrne was peering towards the ruins. The tall, dark-haired companions were throwing anything they could lay their hands on at the iron which ran between the slates when Voldemort arrived. Several of them were almost frenzied. In place of their usual cool composure they wore silent snarls, a match for the hounds. Voldemort realised, after a moment looking around, that he was the first of the humans in the party to arrive. It struck him that the other humans had either remained with the horses or held back as they descended the valley.

'Ah, Tom, how marvellous to see you. We are having a spot of bother. The little rascal has hidden itself and its cub inside this,' the fairy shot a look of distaste at the fence, 'abomination. I wonder if you would go in and fetch it out for us?'

'Certainly,' Voldemort said. He strode forward and stepped over the branch which lay across the gateway. A faint tingle ran through him, but he ignored it. The world was suddenly silent. He could not hear the wind in the trees, or the patter of rain on the russet leaves. Hyrne and the hunters stood absolutely still, watching him, as if they had forgotten how to move. He shivered and walked towards the damp, mossy ruins.

As he came closer he heard a soft sobbing and his heart sank. He hated people crying. He walked around the corner of the building slowly. There, sure enough, was a young woman, barely more than a girl huddled against the wall, cradling something. She had a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders and there was an iron dagger in her hand, blood dripped from it, mixing with the mud and the growing pool of blood beneath her bare, torn feet.

A tall, pale figure, dressed in black stepped out of the shadows and Voldemort froze. He swallowed nervously as Death stooped and gently scooped his bony hands through the bundle. A small, blue light rose from the bundle. Death caught it in one hand, opened a pouch and carefully slipped it inside. Then with a nod to Voldemort he patted the girl's shoulder and walked out of the ruin. If she had seen him the girl gave no sign of it.

Voldemort shivered and gave a small polite cough. The girl looked up at him with tear-stained cheeks and the eyes of a cornered animal. He reached out an arm and she raised the dagger. He acted without thinking. His wand whipped out and the dagger sprung from her hand imbedding itself in the pillar, twenty feet away. It was only then he realised that she had been turning the blade on herself. She shrunk back against the mossy wall. His eyes flicked down to the bundle she had been holding: it was a small fair-haired child with wide blue eyes and a bloody wound through its chest.

'Stay back,' she managed to gasp, 'stay back fairy!'

'I'm human, you silly girl,' Voldemort snapped. Any trace of pity he might have felt vanished in annoyance. He felt a faint curiosity as to why exactly she had been desperate enough to kill the child, but he pushed it to the side.

'Help, please,' she begged. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

Voldemort leapt into her mind, using the connection to sift through her thoughts. 'My dear Alyssa,' he said once he had dragged out her name, 'I have no reason on earth to help you.'

'You know my name. You ... you were in my mind,' she said, eyes wide. She glanced from side to side, but the stones trapped her.

'Yes, yes. Now, I am afraid that you are coming with me. _Petrificus Totalus, locomotor corpus_ ,' he added with a flick of his wand. She froze, limbs snapping together before her now paralysed body began to float through the air back towards the fence. Only her wide, panicked eyes moved, darting from side to side. He gestured a second time and the child's corpse floated after her.

Outside the fence Hyrne and the hunters waited silently. The tall figure of Death was standing beside them, whispering into Hyrne's ear, but as Voldemort approached he smiled and melted into wisps of shadow. The fairy gave a small appreciative clap at Voldemort's return. 'Is she dead?' He asked, tilting his head to examine the girl as she floated back towards him. His voice sounded as if it came from far away, muted and faint.

'Merely paralysed. I can release her, if you wish,' Voldemort said as he stepped back through the gateway and sound returned to the world.

'Excellent, please do so,' Hyrne said, nodding to two of the hunters who came closer with a thin rope of interwoven grass. As Voldemort released the spells and the girl collapsed onto the ground they threw the rope forwards and it took on a life of its own tightly wrapping around her wrists and ankles, tying her into a kneeling position, trussing her like a pig for slaughter. Tied, kneeling in the mud she looked smaller and younger than ever, with pale cheeks and dark, bedraggled hair.

The fairy looked towards the child, 'What happened to that?'

'She killed it,' Voldemort said with a small shrug.

Hyrne sighed and turned to the girl, 'Tell me: where is your mate?'

The girl shook her head and her eyes met Voldemort's, _Please don't tell him_. He almost started, the girl might have been crying but she was no fool: she knew, or had guessed he would still be watching her mind. On an impulse he gave a barely perceptible nod. Out loud she said, 'Not in a thousand years.'

'Child, child, I can make it last a thousand years. _Tell me_ ,' the Gentleman ordered, bending down to turn the girl's face upwards with his long, delicate fingers.

'Never,' the girl said, 'You'll get what's coming to you soon enough.' She turned head swiftly and bit the Gentleman's hand. He tugged it away from her. Fury flashed over his face as he looked at the tracery of blue blood running down his fingers.

'What a foul viper,' he said and turned away from her. 'Bind her in one of the trees, something long lasting, if it agrees. Tom walk with me.'

'Of course,' Voldemort said and turned away, refusing to meet her gaze. 'Bind her in a tree?'

'The tree will meld with her. She will live as long as the tree lives, feel all the tree feels. Every broken twig, every slow, rotting disease will feel as if it happened to her. Within it her unaging body will live, immobile. She will be released in a few hundred years. Once she has pulled the last of the roots from her skin and so on and so forth she will be free to wander the world again. Maybe she will have learnt some manners,' the fairy said with a careless wave. 'It is a pity about the child though. He would have made a pretty page-boy, would he not?'

'I am sure you are correct,' Voldemort said. Behind them he could hear the girl screaming, her voice was an animal cry of agony. 'Might we walk a little faster? I find this rain most invigorating'

'By all means my dear fellow, by all means. I have been thinking, you have some obvious skills. You have a certain advantage, for instance, against iron and rowan. May I inquire, are you well versed in combat?' Hyrne asked, as they clambered up the rocks beside the waterfalls. Below them the screaming had stopped.

'I can certainly handle myself,' Voldemort said guardedly. 'Is there something I might help you with?'

'You know, I believe there may be. I have heard _whispers_ , very recently, from an old acquaintance. There are traitors and enemies gathering. I need to discover their network. I have been given a tiny piece of puzzle. Together _we_ can find the rest,' Hyrne said, eyes flashing.

'Well of course I would wish to be assistance in any way possible. Might I though request a small reward?' Voldemort asked. The fairy's changeable moods could just as easily swing against him as in his favour.

'Could I deny you my dearest friend? Name it: power, wealth, or the fairest companions of any land ...' Hyrne spread his hands wide as if to indicate the world.

'Once I have performed this task I would count it a kindness if I were able to continue my travels. I have business I would like to attend to, which I have neglected these many months I have spent in your house,' Voldemort said, mimicking the fairy's speech.

'Oh no. I could not possibly permit that,' the fairy said with a smile. 'I understand that you must feel some embarrassment at being a guest in another's house for so long. It is a sign of your fine senses that it strikes you so, but it would wound my heart to be parted from your company. I cannot even imagine how sore the blow would be for you were you to be absent from our revels. Do not speak of this matter again. I will find a suitable reward for a man of your calibre.'

Voldemort smiled and gave a small nod of acquiesce, for the moment.

* * *

_Two Months Later_

The grey-bearded Doorkeeper of the House of Altarnun rose from his chair as the bells chimed seven o'clock. He walked to the door taking out his keys, sorting through them until he found the long, iron key for the first lock. He locked the door the same order as ever; turning the locks, sliding the wooden bars into place, and slotting the iron bolts into their housings. Upstairs the Window Warden would be checking each of the shutters; the Firekeeper would be lighting blazes in each of the hearths.

The House of Altarnun was a fortress. It lay in the hills to the south of Mireless and the Screaming Marshes. Sheltered by the hills it was built for anything short of an organised siege. The walls were six foot thick and granite; there were no windows on the ground floor and only arrow slits on the second, every higher window was guarded by thick, iron bars; the roof was surrounded by a rampart, and guards patrolled the corridors in pairs. Even getting to the door after dark would be impossible once the drawbridge was raised: a wide river flowed through a deep culvert before the door.

Yet as the Doorkeeper turned away from the door there was a slow rat-tat-tat. He paused and shuffled back to the door. He slid back the iron covering the peephole in the door. The wooden planks of the drawbridge were inches from his nose. He backed away from the door as the knock came again. He pulled the great horn from his waist and blew it once to warn the guards that something was outside; twice would mean that something was trying to get in; three times would mean it was inside.

He had been warned about this sort of thing by his predecessor when he had started: 'There will be times when things come calling at night. Ignore them. Sound the warning, and _never_ speak to them.' There had been a handful of such occasions through the years of his service when he had had to sound the alarm once; he had only blown the horn twice on one occasion.

He turned to walk back to his room when he heard the first of the bolts slide back. He watched transfixed as the bolts dragged themselves back across the door. He raised his hand to the bolts, but they refused to move no matter how much force he put upon them. The locks clicked, one at a time. He forced the great key in the last lock and held on, but the key snapped under the pressure as the lock clicked opened. He raised the horn to his lips for the second time and began to back down the corridor, fumbling for the sword at his belt. The bars on the door shuddered and began to rise.

The third blast of the horn thundered through the House of Altarnun. The guards, veterans to a man, unsheathed swords, drew axes and unslung bows as they took up positions at choke points throughout the building. At the centre of the house two guards hurried the master of the house into a room with only one, iron door. A hired sorcerer, an elderly man with a thick grey beard and a scarlet robe, nodded to the master of the house as the guards hurried him past.

The clamour of fighting filtered through the house. Thunder shook the walls. Screams and cries echoed up the stairwells and cut off. Horns blew and bells tolled. Weapons clanged on the stones. Doors shattered with echoing cracks. Metal shrieked somewhere in the house. Gradually the sound died away. Silence fell.

The Keeper, master of the house, sat shivering, waiting. He looked down at the roll of parchment he held in his left hand for a moment before glancing at the candle in his right. For a moment there was a flash of green light from beneath the door and a chill crept through the room. He waited, his fingers shaking, his eyes glued to the door. Nothing happened. Then the flame flickered and went out. He reached for the flint he kept in a pouch at his belt and, fingers shaking, he lit the candle. The candle flared up and a long, pale face with hawk-like features was illuminated for a second before the flame died to nothing.

'Good evening,' said a voice and then a soft, white radiance filled the room revealing a tall man, dressed in a neat black suit and carrying a thin stick. 'You may refer to me as, "my Lord". You are the Keeper?'

'Yes,' the Keeper said, swallowing. His hands were empty.

The stick swept through the air. ' _Crucio_.' Pain wracked the Keeper's body. It felt as if white hot knives were being plunged into every inch of his skin; needles slid into his eyes, as if his throat and lungs were on fire. 'You will refer to me as "my Lord",' reminded the man coldly.

'Yes, my Lord,' The Keeper gasped. He slumped, panting, in his chair. There was the iron taste of blood in his mouth from where he had bitten his tongue.

'Now, Keeper ...' the man lifted the Keeper's chin with one hand and looked into his eyes, 'this isn't going to hurt a bit. Well it isn't going to hurt me a bit.' There was a pause. 'My, my, someone has been training. You have exquisite defences. I have no wish to break your mind, so we will start with the old methods. What do you think? Will you talk?'

The Keeper shook his head. The man sighed and made a short motion with his hand. The chair on which the Keeper sat came to life. The wood twisted and bent binding him to it before floating into the air.

'You cannot resist me,' the man whispered. 'Would you like to guess how many came with me to storm this stronghold? There were no others. I came alone. Your men died for nothing. You will die for nothing, unless you tell me this: what do you know that the Master of Lament fears? Do not think to lie, Lord Voldemort always knows.'

'You want to know that?' The Keeper asked, surprised. 'You aren't one of his thralls?'

'He sent me,' the man admitted, 'but I serve no-one. If it comforts you though, know that I will use what you tell me to kill him. I will destroy him, but you hold the key.' He watched the Keeper's face intently.

'If I tell you, will you let me live?'

'If you tell me I swear upon my Mother's grave that I will treat you as I would my own Father,' the man promised.

The Keeper hesitated for a moment before his mind flicked back to the pain the man could inflict. 'He keeps his life protected in a silver egg, sealed in a box made from dead men's fingernails. If you break that egg he will be as mortal as one of his race can be,' he whispered, eyes darting into the corners.

'Who else knows this?' The man asked.

'I can't tell you. I don't know ... my lord' the Keeper said, he could feel cold sweat soaking his shirt. The man's eyes were cold and emotionless as he waited for the Keeper to answer. 'We don't ask for names. They paid the price we asked.'

'Your business is knowledge. Who was he?'

'She, all I know is that it was a she. She wants to kill him,' the Keeper gabbled. He could feel the chair pressing into his wrists and ankles, slowly cutting off his blood supply.

'How much have you told her?'

'Everything we knew. We were to meet again soon.'

'When?' The man said, grasping the Keeper by the throat in his eagerness.

'I don't know, she was to arrange it.'

The man surveyed him for a second and stood back, looking at him. 'You are a coward. I despise cowards. Open your mind to me, I need to know you are telling me everything. You can choose, pain or surrender.'

The Keeper hesitated and then nodded, ashamed. He let his defences slip and opened his mind. Lord Voldemort held his face still and locked gazes with him. The Keeper felt him sift through his thoughts, picking through them, examining them for anything useful. It was five minutes until Voldemort had finished. He stepped back and raised his wand.

'Please, you promised ...' the Keeper begged. He recognised the expression on his captor's face, he had seen it too many times before.

'I swore on my Mother's grave; she was a pauper and if she was buried it was in an unmarked grave which is long, long gone. I swore to treat you as I treated my Father: I killed him. Be thankful that I gave him a merciful death. _Avada Kedavra_.'

The Keeper's body slumped in the chair. A pale figure, robed in black, arose from the shadows. It walked over to the corpse and ran a hand over his face catching a tiny spark of life as it rose from the Keeper's mouth. 'Good evening, Tom,' said Death.

'Good evening,' Voldemort said. He inched backwards from the tall, sombre figure. 'I did not expect to see you again.'

'You brought me with you.'

'I suppose I did. Are you finished with the body?' Voldemort asked.

'I have no need for it. Such things are not my business.'

'No? I suppose not. We do so associate them with you. Well in that case, _diffindo_ , _defribulus_.' The twin spells cut the Keeper's throat and forced the heart to pump the blood out as Voldemort twirled his wand, turning the chair and corpse upside down.

'I must be going, but is there any reason for these antics?'

'There are certain abilities I would prefer to keep quiet,' Voldemort said.

Death nodded in understanding. 'I shall see you again.'


	8. Chapter 8

_Several Months Later_

It was market day in Penryn and the town was buzzing with life. Traders were hawking their wares on the green. Colourful flags fluttered in the breeze. Actors were striding to and fro on a stage bellowing lines to one another. At one corner a scribe was taking down letters from eager customers, desperate to let their distant relatives know all the latest gossip; close by another scribe was reading out the messages to their recipients. Children were enjoying honeyed fruit and crystallised nuts.

Towards the edge of the market merchants were hiring guards for the caravans, sombre men in greys and browns, save for red sashes or belts, with grim expressions. There were a few younger faces amongst the group, aspiring mercenaries looking for their first taste of adventure. One of the merchants, a grizzled man with watery eyes clapped his hands in satisfaction, spat upon one of them and shook with one of the youngsters.

'Well Boy, I'll introduce ye and then ye can settle in,' the merchant, Two-Rivers, said. He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulders guiding him towards the small encampment of traders that lay outside the town proper. The Boy stumbled for a moment under the weight of the older man's hand and smiled awkwardly.

'Thank'ee Master Two,' he mumbled as he bobbed his head up and down. They pushed under a band of red cloth with its swaying pieces of rowan and entered the circle of caravans and wagons. Seated around the campfire on stones and tree-stumps were a motley collection of men and women who looked up as the Boy and Two approached.

'Now lad,' the merchant said, 'this little band is the family, as t'were. Though Crow my business partner is still dealing with some stuff in the town. This is Trenant, he gets his name from some village in the middle of nowhere. Quiet 'un.'

The Boy nodded towards a tall, olive skinned man who grunted at him and went back to whittling a stick.

'This is Pen, comes from a way up north,' Two said as he pointed to a man who looked up from a boiled egg he was peeling and gave a broad, gap-toothed smile. 'Say hello to Hendra, Boy, she likes people to be polite.'

'Hello Miss,' the Boy said. He touched his scarlet cap to a striking woman with long black hair. As he spoke she turned her head revealing a missing ear and a deep, ugly scar which ran across her face. Part of her cheek was missing and the Boy could see the gleam of teeth behind the skin. The Boy held back a flinch, trying not to look too closely.

'Well done lad, most don't deal so well,' Two said quietly. 'This 'un,' he pointed to man of somewhere around fifty with short white hair, 'we call Old Man, ye can guess why. This girl's Slipper; this fine, strapping lad is Little; the blue 'un with the tats is Freathy, but we calls him Fre. This is One-Eye,' he pointed to a grey haired man with a battered, felt hat pulled low over his brow. 'And this is Lucky, don't play cards with him.'

'Hey now! Don't I even get one round with the new lads anymore?' Lucky said with a quick grin.

'Not after the last time. You're lucky to have all your fingers,' Two growled, though his eye twinkled.

'I gave them all back,' said a voice from behind the Boy. The Boy turned, a lithe man with dark hair and faintly fey features was sitting, folded in upon himself on the step of the wagon. His eyes were a bright, lively green and unlike the others he wore no red. Half a dozen small, flickering flames were dancing around his hand though as the Boy noticed he flicked a finger and they winked out.

'And that's our sorcerer, Harry. Queer name, but he comes from far away he says. He joined us a few months back; seems content enough to plod along with the rest of us mortals for the moment. Always looking around for something or other though. Don't play jokes on him, he doesn't have a sense of humour,' Two said in a stage whisper.

'I heard that,' Harry said, jumping down off the step of the wagon. He was tall, over six feet, and his piercing eyes seemed to take in everything about the Boy in one brief glance. Despite himself the Boy took a small step backwards. The wizard ignored the movement. 'Good to see a new face. I need a word Two.'

'No, no, take it up with Crow. I don't want any more arguments with you. You twist my words so that that they don't know whether they're coming or going,' Two said as he shook his finger at the sorcerer.

'I _am_ a wizard. It is rather our thing,' Harry said mildly. 'No twisting words this time though. I don't want you to do anything that wouldn't be entirely fair to you though. Just let me know: is Mayhew going to be coming?'

'Well no, 'tis why we've taken on the new boy,' Two answered cautiously. He had taken a step backwards so that his back was to the wheel of the wagon and his eyes flicked from side to side. However, apart from the Boy none of the others were watching.

'Ah, of course, how foolish of me. So I imagine you'll be making sure he has enough to get by on until his leg mends?' Harry said. His voice was pleasant but there was something in his tone which made the Boy shiver and he was hardly surprised when he saw Two wring his hands.

'Well no, we're a business you know. Small trader. We have to make ends meet. He'll be fine, the locals will look after 'im. He can work off the debt come harvest. I've given 'im his last wages. I done nothing wrong.'

'I understand,' Harry said, laying his hand on the shorter man's shoulder. 'Which is why I'm going to offer you a bargain.'

Two froze warily. 'A bargain?'

'Absolutely. Believe me, you'll come out well from this. I can give you a bag.'

'A bag?' Two asked, confused.

'Anything you put into the bag will not decay. Fresh meats, fruits, vegetables ... whatever you place in there will remain as fresh as the day you put it in. Imagine, you'll be able to sell the rarest foods anywhere,' Harry said, 'in exchange you'll give Mayhew pay for a month. The wound should have mended by then.'

'If you had a bag like that it'd be worth more than that,' Two said warily.

'I suppose it would, I guess you'll have to owe me a favour. Still I will have to make it, and it'll take a few weeks to manage.'

'If you can't do it?'

'Then take Mayhew's pay from my wages. You lose nothing,' Harry assured him.

Two paused for a moment. 'You promise it will work?'

'You have my word, for as long as the bag lasts the magic will hold. Of course you'll need to give me a bag to work on ...'

Two spat on his hand and held it out to Harry, 'Done.'

Harry's smile shrank slightly as he looked at the hand before replicating the action and shaking hands with Two. 'Pleasure,' he said drily.

Two slipped out of the space between him and the wheel, 'I'll just go and pay Mayhew then.'

'You do that. Tell him I'll drop by later to say goodbye,' Harry said, pleasantly.

Two grimaced briefly, out of Harry's sight, and nodded. 'I will. Crow'll pick out a bag for you to work on. Remind me why this sort of thing isn't in your contract?'

'You never asked what I could do, only told me what you wanted me to do,' Harry pointed out before turning away. As he passed the Boy he gave a small smile, 'Everybody loves a bargain.'

* * *

Three days later a fine drizzle was falling as they wound their way up a hill. It was slowly soaking the entire caravan of wagons as they slowly wound their way up the track. The track in turn was gradually turning into muddy slush under the passage of one wagon after another. Bleak, grassy hills rose around them. The rain obscured any trees in the valley below which could have broken the desolation of the landscape. The wind whistled through gaps in the canvas. A few, bedraggled moorland ponies stared at them from beneath damp manes. Two and Crow had tucked themselves safely away in the first wagon, avoiding the worst of the weather. The guards were taking it turns to shelter in the second wagon. Harry had placed a blue flame which gave off heat but did not burn in its centre to dry them.

The Boy was longing for the moment when he could slip back into the wagon. The thought of magic unnerved him, but when balanced against being cold and wet it lost a lot of its fear. He pulled his hood a little lower, trying to keep the rain off his face as he skirted a particularly muddy patch where horse's hooves had churned the track into a quagmire.

'You'd best not let the others catch you doing that,' a voice said from beside him.

He looked up, startled. Harry was keeping pace with him. The dark haired man was dressed for a dry mild day in greys and blues and the Boy could not tell if the rain touched him or not. 'I didn't hear you, Master Wizard, sir.'

'Please call me Harry. How many times have I asked now?' Harry sighed. 'That's the point though: the hood makes it harder to hear things, cuts down your vision too. If we were attacked by brigands you'd be easy meat. Friendly warning, that's all.'

The Boy blushed and pulled back the hood a little, 'Thank'ee kindly.'

'My pleasure. Don't worry too much for the moment. There's nothing around here at the moment, I've scouted it out for a few miles.'

'I didn't see naught! Can 'ee walk unseen?'

'If I so wish. Not this time. In any case, if I were a bandit I'd want to be curled up by a fire in weather like this. Most people prefer to work when they don't have to suffer to do so. Attacking in weather like this would only be worth it if you knew where people were going to be. Which is another trick, don't let people know where you're going.'

The Boy nodded solemnly, committing it to memory.

'Of course, that doesn't mean you can't tell people where you're from, I think that's just superstition, though better safe than sorry. Still, I know where you're from anyway. Did you like it there? It seemed a nice village.'

'It were a town, sir,' the Boy said defensively, 'there were close to five hundred people there.'

'Where I came from there were places with forty thousand which were only cities through habit,' Harry said with a brief smile, 'well, before the bad times anyway.'

'Forty thousand?' The Boy asked trying to imagine the number.

'It's not as big as you might think. Charn's about two-hundred thousand.'

'You've been to Charn? I heard they burnt foreigners there,' the Boy looked at Harry with a look somewhere between suspicion and awe.

'Trust me, they don't. They do have incredible barbeques though. There are some absolutely superb spices they put on those meats. You should go, the food is to die for. Though they do have a few odd customs about dancing; I got thrown out of a window for it at one point. Just trying to be friendly. Defenestration: lovely word, but not nearly so nice an experience. Still though, back to the point, did you like your town?' Harry asked, skipping a puddle.

'Aye, t'were home.'

'Leave anyone behind?'

'Family, and erm ...'

'A sweetheart perhaps?' Harry asked with a grin. 'Don't worry, we've all had sweethearts in the past. Nice girl?'

The Boy nodded. 'She's the finest lass there is. We've pledged ourselves to one another. I'm going to come back to her, once I've earnt enough for us to marry.'

Harry looked at him for a long moment and gave a small nod, 'I hope that works out. What does she do for a living?'

'She's the brewer's daughter. Her mother is teaching her the trade,' the Boy said, 'but I'd want to marry her no matter her trade. Don't 'ee go getting no wrong ideas now.'

'I wouldn't dream of it. I imagine her bride-price,' the Wizard pulled a face as he said it, 'must be quite impressive then. A word of warning: this isn't the fast road to money. Worse still you'll see things and do things on it that might change you. If they do, and she's still waiting, think about whether you would want to give her someone who isn't the person she fell for.'

'What do you mean?'

'Have you ever had to kill someone? Or faced someone who wants to kill you? That's a hard thing to cope with. Harder still when your lover doesn't understand. I'd bet this is the first time you're going further than a day's walk from your home, right? You might see the singing stars in the waters below the eastern cliffs, or walk the shore of bones. You might bring her back a shawl from the water markets of Lys, or a comb of hardened spider silk from the West, but she'll not have been there with you. You can tell her the stories of how you fought leaf-folk in the sunken isles when you got this scar or that scar, or how you were one of the guards who carried the last relics of some knight or other back from the wars to her lover. She won't have been there though. It may matter or it may not, but it's something to think about,' Harry said with a small shrug.

The Boy hesitated. Part of him wanted to protest that their love was not like that, that he would always love her, but there was something in the Wizard's voice prevented him. 'Did you lose someone?'

'Yes.'

'Did you love her very much?'

'I think I did. I remember loving her, but it was a long, long time ago and far, far away. For years I kept up the same small acts of remembrance. Maybe I was doing them out of dedication, but it might just have been habit,' Harry said slowly. 'I didn't lose her like that though. I've just seen too many people grow apart over the course of their lives. Too many tiny movements in the current which pulled them away until they didn't _see_ each other anymore, they just saw people they had to tolerate every day. Love can be a terrible, terrible thing.'

'Not loving is worse though, least-ways that's what I always heard.'

'That's what they say.'

'Is that why you're out here, wandering around instead of stuck up in some tower like a normal wizard?'

Harry chuckled, 'That's mainly only the case in stories. I got separated from a friend a while ago and I needed to try and find him, and ... someone else. No-one had any idea where they might be and apparently the only way I can find them is to ask someone called the Green Man of Knowledge. You haven't heard of him have you? No, I thought not. So I'm just enjoying sightseeing whilst I have a look around really. Nothing much. Anyway, I was supposed to come out here and tell you that it's time for you to go and have a break. Warm yourself up and dry off for a little. I'll take over here.'

'Ah, thank'ee. Do you want my cloak?' The Boy asked as he turned towards the wagon and swung himself up.

'No, don't worry about me. A little rain won't do me any harm,' Harry reassured him.

The Boy ducked under the canvas flaps to the wagon and sealed them behind him again. Then he turned around and stripped off his cloak. Pen, Lucky, Slipper and One-Eye were sitting around the small blue flame which floated just above the wooden floor of the wagon. It threw strange shadows onto the canvas walls, shadows which danced and twisted erratically. One-Eye and Lucky were playing cards and for once Lucky appeared, to his consternation, to be losing. At least the Boy presumed so from the twinkle in One-Eye's blue eye, and the stunned expression on Lucky's face.

Pen was tossing one of his endless supply of hardboiled eggs back and forth in his hands and humming tunelessly. He looked up and smiled a craggy smiles at the Boy as he came in. Slipper was sitting closest to the fire, head on her knees, though she moved over as the Boy came in.

'Have a seat,' she said as he squatted down. 'The Wizard talking to you?'

'Aye. Why does he call himself that? I thought he were a sorcerer.'

She snorted, 'He comes from a long way away he says, different names for things. Maybe he is a wizard though, he knows more than battle magic: I've even seen him become an animal at will. Careful about asking him questions though, he could talk the back legs off a donkey, without magic, and by the end you might well not know the answer to your question.'

The Boy grinned and nodded slowly before settling back to watch One-Eye beat Lucky again and again at the cards.

* * *

That night, when the rain had died away, the guards and merchants sat together around a larger, natural blaze. The rich orange and yellow of the flames was a welcome relief after the chill blue of the Wizard's sorcerous fire. The longer the Boy had spent around the twisting flames as they turned from sapphire to indigo and back again the less able he had been to look at the things they shed light upon. They had changed becoming, in some undefined way, sinister. However, the small bonfire Trenant and Little had built washed away the lingering prickle at the back of his neck. It was not long before they were all chuckling at a story about Hendra's aunt trying to get a pig to market. Although the scarred woman looked solemn it turned out she was an endless supply of amusing anecdotes about her apparently accident prone family and village.

'... and from that day to this they've never seen hide nor hair of that pig, but I swear my auntie, she still goes out to try and call it home every evening ...'

The chuckling slowly died as Harry slipped into the circle. Old Man and Slipper moved over to create space for him and Little picked up a bowl from near the fire. 'We've been keeping some stew for you, Wizard, if you'd like it,' the large man rumbled, holding it out towards him.

'Thank you Little, that would be lovely. I'm sorry for interrupting your story Hendra, please continue, it sounded charming,' Harry said mildly.

'It, um, that was it,' she muttered, suddenly looking away pulling a lock of her dark hair down over the scarred side of her face.

'Then I'm sorry to have missed it. I'm sure it was as entertaining as always,' Harry said, taking a spoonful of the stew. 'This really is very good Little, thank you again.'

'It's nothing,' Little said gruffly.

The Boy fidgeted, looking uneasily around the now silent campfire. The two merchants were studiously not looking up from their stew and most of the guards were exchanging awkward glances, like children who do not know whether to continue playing once an adult has entered the room.

'Boy, did you ever wonder how I got this scar?' Old Man asked the Boy, breaking the silence as he pointed to a long, silvery mark which ran across his forehead.

'Aye sir, that I did,' the Boy said and around him the guards turned, smiles returning in anticipation.

'An Almari pirate, with a curved sword, near cut my head in two. Can you guess how I got away with only this cut?'

'No, what happened?' The Boy leant forward eagerly.

'I fell over backwards on a coil of rope some idiot had left on deck. Managed to kick him overboard by accident!' The Old Man answered with a grin. 'Now you, any good scars?'

The Boy blushed and before he could answer Slipper cut in, 'Don't be cruel, he's not been out of his village before. You're going to compare scars look at this 'un,' She pulled up the leg of her trouser revealing a row of tiny, silver half-moons along her calf. 'I bet you've never seen the like of what gave this one, have you Fre? Take a guess.'

Fre leant in for a moment before shrugging, 'What was it Slip?'

'A kelpie, snuck up on me one time at a ford. Nearly got my leg. I was wearing bronze greaves, but it bit hard enough to leave these. Took three others just to drive that thing away. Had to pour salt into the stream and all.'

Old Man nodded appreciatively. 'That's a fine one, but I've got one which'll beat that.' He undid his shirt slightly, loosening the cords to pull it back and reveal one shoulder as Lucky gave a wolf-whistle. There was a red puckered mark on his back and a smaller divot on the front of the shoulder. 'Bloody great malk got me there. Hooked a claw straight through and tossed me twenty feet. Only got out of that one by running like hell. Funny thing is I hardly felt the wound till a couple of hours later. It tore its claw off when it threw me though, stopped me from bleeding out.'

'Yeah right. No-one survives one of those,' Fre muttered, tossing another bit of wood onto the fire.

'Oh, is that so? Care to bet on it?' Slipper asked.

'Sure, how much ye wagering?'

Slipper checked her pouch, and pulled out two silver pennies. 'There's my coin on it.'

'Met.'

'Well the girl wins. Here's the claw to prove it!' The Old Man said, pulling a cord around his neck to show a long, yellow talon.

Slipper chuckled as she took Fre's coin. 'You shouldn't have bet on that. I've known Old a sight longer than you, you don't imagine he wouldn't have told that story before do you?'

'That's cheating right there that is!' Fre protested, appealing open armed to the others.

'The lass ne're said she didn't know the answer already,' One-Eye pointed out, 'she just challenged you.'

'Of all the tricks to fall for ...' Fre groaned to the chuckles of the others.

'What about you Wizard?' The Boy asked, plucking up courage. 'You got any scars to show off? I would, but my best is where I cut me-self with a scythe, so it ain't much.'

'I have a few,' Harry said, 'but you wouldn't believe me if I told you how I came by them.'

From beyond the circle of firelight came the sound of footsteps on the rocks and the clip-clop of hooves. One or two of the guards stood, hands flying to the weapons which they had lain down beside them. They relaxed when Pen walked into the light along with a tall stranger. The man had pale, parchment like skin; hollow, sharp features and he was dressed in plain, black clothes.

Crow stood and gave a short bow, 'Well met stranger. We offer you food and drink at our table. May you come and go in peace.'

'My thanks. May you find rest and peace,' the stranger said returning the bow. 'I am Last.'

'Peace be with you. I am known as Crow, please sit with us. What forces you to travel so late into the night? I would have thought your horse might have turned a hoof.'

'Thank you,' Last sat with a sigh on one of the stones around the fire accepting a bowl Little offered him. 'The same reason I would advise you to turn your caravan around now. The road ahead is dangerous. If you carry on you'll enter the desolation of a dragon.'

'A dragon? As in flying lizard, breathes fire, scales, about fifty feet long?' Harry asked quietly as Last carried on talking to Crow.

'Sounds like one. Can it talk?' One-Eye asked.

'No.'

'You're thinking of drakes. Dragons are worse.'

'What's so bad about them?' Harry asked.

One-Eye raised an eyebrow, 'You're a sorcerer, don't you know about them?'

'Indulge me. I think we may only have had drakes where I was from.'

'Dragons are powerful. Their tongues are quick and their words weave webs, they never break promises but their words twist. Never meet a dragon's eye, they can pin you down with their gaze. They've got strange magic,' One-Eye said, shaking his head slowly.

'They sound dangerous,' Harry conceded.

'My nan used to tell me stories, when I was young,' Fre said, 'how there was an age when there were mighty princes who walked fair and tall amongst all peoples of the earth. That came to an end with the coming of the dragons and the return of the Hillfolk. The kings fought and died gloriously, but they died all the same. The palaces of glass and the citadels of steel were cast down into the dust. The world grew grey with sorrow and the gods ceased to walk among us. The Good Neighbours are strong, but they couldn't have done it without the dragons.'

One-Eye nodded, 'The lad's right. They only respect courage and cunning, if you lack those you haven't a chance. If there's a dragon around anyone who lives here is as good as dead.'


	9. Chapter 9

Dawn came slowly the next morning. Overhead steely grey clouds promised rain. Crow and Two huddled together talking as the guards prepared breakfast and packed up the tents again. Last stood to one side, turning his pale gaze on each member of the group. Eventually, once everything had been packed away the two stood.

'Right, listen up,' Two said. He coughed loudly and when that failed stepped up onto a rock and clapped his hands together a few times to get everyone's attention. Once they were listening he coughed and continued, 'We've talked about it and it sounds as if our road will only pass through the edge of the desolation. We can't risk missing the market in Trewalder. If we go any other way it might take weeks extra, so we're going to carry on this way. We should pass through Highmost Redmanhey later today, and after that it's only a half a day's travel and we'll be out of the dragon's territory. Any questions?'

Harry raised a hand, once Two reluctantly acknowledged him lowered the hand and asked, 'How big is this dragon's territory? I mean it won't mean much if being near the edge of it, if the edge is practically right beside its lair will it?'

'Last has helped us plot our route. We'll be fine, just keep quiet, which goes for everyone. If you could try not to do anything flashy Wizard I'd be a very, very happy man. They say dragons can smell magic, so keep it to a minimum.'

'I'll be as quiet as a mouse,' Harry promised, before adding, 'a really quiet mouse that is, not one of the squeaky ones, or one of the ones which scratches at the wainscot. Imagine me as a ghostly mouse, a silent ghostly mouse ...'

'Yes, yes, thank you,' Two interrupted, 'Are you sure you want to carry on this way Last? You may travel with us if you wish to. There is safety in numbers.'

Last shook his head, 'I have many meetings to keep. The Brotherhood will be meeting soon and I must be there. It is believed that men now know who stormed the House of Altarnun. You will meet few of that kindred who have not been hired to repay the blow.'

With a final salute the stranger turned upon his heel and strode away down the dark, brown strip of the road. Soon he was just a shadow on the barren landscape. They watched him go and then turned to their own business, hitching the horses to the wagons, scattering the ashes of the fire and setting off around the hillside before Last was quite out of sight.

'So,' Harry asked as they marched up to the saddlebow between two hills, 'What is the House of Altarnun?'

'It is legendary, or was until recently,' the Old Man said. 'How can you not know about it?'

'I like the quiet life,' Harry said.

The Old Man rolled his eyes at Slipper who shrugged. Getting an answer from the wizard was about as easy as getting blood from a stone. 'It was a fortress. A cradle of knowledge. They say that the House had agents everywhere. It gathered information from every corner of the world, housed it, hid it and sold it to the highest bidder. The agents are still out there but the fortress was stormed a few months ago.

'Someone killed everyone in there. The archives were utterly destroyed ...'

'Burnt?' Harry asked.

'No, just gone. Utterly vanished, not a single scroll was left. Some are saying that one of the Gentry must have sent the Dullahan. Nonsense if you ask me, if anyone could control that creature there would be nothing which could stand against them,' the Old Man finished.

Harry sighed, 'You're not going to believe that I need to ask this. What is a dullahan?'

'The Dullahan, there is only one, thank the rowan. He is a horseman, almost human in form, though he lacks a head. Every door unlocks in his presence. If you see him he'll come for you next. He carries a whip made from the spines of his victims. You can't kill him, you can't reason with him, you can't stop him. You can only delay him, he cannot touch gold, they say. But who has enough gold to protect them forever?' The Old Man explained quietly as they came to the crest.

'Why do people think it was that thing which did it?' Harry asked, looking uneasily from side to side. There was nothing on the hillside but bare rock and grass.

'None of the doors were broken down. Whatever it was cut through the entire guard, but no-one found any sign that they managed to kill a single attacker. That place was a fortress. Iron was everywhere, every door was supplemented with rowan, not even one of the High Folk could have stormed it,' One-Eye said, cutting in.

Then they reached the top of the saddlebow. Below them ran a long, green valley, over which rainclouds hung low. If any of them had expected to see some obvious sign that they were entering the wastes of a dragon they were disappointed. There were no long burning fires or great columns of smoke rising from burning towns and villages. The hills and distant fields were not blackened and charred. No great wings beat the air. A cold, wet wind blew up the valley and a murmuration of starlings wheeled against the grey clouds.

The valley should have been more inhabited than the wild hills and moors they had been crossing for the last few days yet the world seemed quieter and less substantial as pools of silvery water reflected the sky. Although they passed farmsteads the fields were empty, only occasional scarecrows swayed in the breeze to ward off the birds. Ploughs stood abandoned in half-tilled fields.

Once when they passed a farm which lay close to the road they saw open doors swinging slowly to and fro and heard the lowing of cows in the cattle sheds. After a short discussion they halted, searched the farm for life, milked the cows and released them into the fields. Then they took the supplies which they had found, rather than letting them spoil, and set off again. The next few miles were slightly more cheerful as they passed round cheese and the skin of milk they had filled, enjoying the warm, rich, creamy taste before it began to spoil. Pen was certainly happy, carefully storing the eggs he had collected from the chickens at the farm in a crate filled with straw.

Throughout it all they spoke as little as possible, and when they did speak it was in whispers. The rain was a welcome relief when it started to fall. Sweeping sheets flowed across the landscape in soaking downpours. The constant beating of the raindrops on the canvas eased the silence. Harry made no move to create mage-fire and so the guards and merchants sheltered in the three wagons, miserable, wet and cold, rubbing their hands together and ignoring one another.

They came to Highmost Redmanhey as the light was beginning to fade in the gradual fashion of cloudy days. The rain was falling more gently now. The town had been built on and in an ancient hillfort from folk long gone. It had no proper wall and it needed none. On its northern side, opposite to that from which the party approached, lay a great slope mounted by the blank, granite faces of the outermost ring of houses. On the other three sides steep, grey cliffs cut away at the edge of the hill dropping down into a deep, impassable ravine. Only one bridge, just wide enough for a wagon to pass safely, arched across the gap.

'There were guards here last time I came this way,' Little rumbled as he guided the horses over the bridge.

'Well it looks like there's little to guard now,' Harry said, looking up at the town. 'I can't see so much as a candle up there.'

'I don't like the idea of staying in an empty town overnight,' Lucky said, shivering in the howling wind. 'That sounds dangerous to me. What if there are ghosts in there?'

'Ghosts won't harm us. The defences are probably still in place too. I don't like the thought of staying out in a dragon's land. Who knows what might walk after dark?' One-Eye asked, thumping his spear on the flagstones of the road as they waited for the other wagons to cross.

'Someone help me open the gate,' Harry grunted as he put his shoulder against the thick, red gates which hung ajar just beyond the bridge. It swung outwards easily enough with only a few creaking groans from the aged wood and soon he and the Boy had the heavy doors open.

'Well, I imagine we can find a soft bed or two tonight,' Fre said more brightly than any of them felt. 'I doubt anyone will mind.'

'I'm not going into those houses,' Lucky said, scratching his cheek as he looked around at the dark, empty houses. 'What happened here though? There's no sign of a struggle or dragon-fire. It's just ...'

'Empty,' Harry finished for him. 'Maybe they simply fled when they heard of the dragon.'

'Then why didn't we see or hear of them? Our road was the fastest to the next town,' Slipper pointed out as she gripped on the daggers at her belt. 'Some might have gone another way, but not all.'

'It could have been anything,' Harry pointed out, gingerly prodding one door open and looking inside at the room where bowls half filled with congealed soup sat on the table undisturbed. 'I admit that it's quite creepy though. If I had to make a bet, I'd say something else removed these people. Either it didn't care what people thought had happened or expected it to be blamed on the dragon.'

'We shouldn't stay here,' Lucky murmured again.

'It's only one night, then we'll be away from this accursed place. Thank the rowan,' the Old Man muttered, joining the group as the wagons rumbled into the town. 'I don't like not knowing where the folk went though.'

'They're still here,' Crow said quietly from behind them. 'Sort of anyway.'

'What?' Harry turned around, a wand almost materialised in his hand as he pulled it from a sheath at his hip. 'Where?'

'Don't worry. They won't be causing any trouble,' Crow said, leaning against a wall. His face was pale and shaken. 'Didn't you look into the ravine as we crossed? They're down there. Hundreds of them: men, women, children.'

'How? Why?' The Boy asked.

'I don't know. Could a sorcerer or some such have done this Wizard?' Crow asked Harry.

The wizard grimaced uncomfortably, 'Yes, but even a powerful wizard could only manage a dozen or so at a time. You couldn't do this to an entire town. Maybe if you had an artefact ... but it'd have to be incredibly powerful. Things like that leave a trace,' Harry said.

'They did it then,' the Old Man spat, touching his right hand to the grubby, scarlet ribbon he wore around his wrist.

'How though?' The Boy asked. 'I never heard of a thing that could do this.'

'There's a lot of things you haven't heard of. A cow or a boar most likely will have broken the rowan barrier. Might be that a singer was out there. Managed to entrap them before they knew what was happening. They'd have thought they were safe. It's easy for those things to get their hooks into a mind which thinks that,' One-Eye observed.

'Why? Why do this? What did they gain?' Harry asked. He kicked a lose slate so that it flew into a wall and shattered.

'Why does a man hunt? Sport, food, maybe to clear something away? Perhaps they were simply playing, like children destroying an anthill,' the Old Man said glumly. 'I'm not sure if most of them care that we exist. I've lived a long time and I've seen friends broken by them and met men and women who simply passed them on the road with nothing more than a "Good day".'

'You can't just accept that! They're intelligent beings, we must be able to talk to them!' Harry insisted.

'Aye, they're intelligent. Why would they talk to us though?' The Old Man asked as he shut the gates behind the wagon and barred it.

Harry strolled along the empty streets. The rain had ceased and a brisk breeze had largely cleared the skies leaving only occasional clouds to drift across the pale stars and the silvery pathway of the rest of the galaxy. Behind him the merchants and guards had taken up residence in one of the houses at the rain of the town, avoiding venturing into its heart. Two remained on guard with the wagons and horses with sprigs of rowan berries pinned to their cloaks. They had lit a fire in the hearth, though they had pulled clothes over the windows to prevent the light from escaping. Harry himself had taken those precautions he thought wise: putting on some of the hardened leather armour he had gathered and his long, green cloak which he had been slowly layering with enchantments.

Here and there cats strolled through the night time streets. They spared him the occasional glance but showed no particular interest in him. A large black and white tom paused in washing his paw to stare at Harry for a moment before simply bending his head again to carry on licking. Apart from the cats, and their prey, the town was like an empty snail shell: dead and hollow.

At least he thought so until he turned a corner onto the penultimate ring of the hill and heard the rustle of clothes. He turned, looking into the shadows. Drawing his wand, he cast a silent lumos on instinct and a were-light blossomed from his wand. A woman was standing in the shadow of a door way. She was tall, a match for his own height, perhaps taller. Her hair fell over her face in a sweeping wave of gold and in the light remarkably green eyes glinted from underneath her long fringe.

'Good evening,' Harry said warily. 'Forgive me for asking, but are you human? And if you are, how come you're not at the bottom of the ravine?'

She started slightly as she realised that he had noticed her and raised her head, brushing her hair away from her eyes. 'How could you tell?' She asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Your form could do with a little work,' he said and flicked his wand so that the light and floated up to light the street fully.

'I was of the opinion that it was rather good actually,' she said, glancing down at her hands. 'What did I get wrong?'

'The eyes mainly.'

'My eyes? Humans have green eyes, you have green eyes,' she pointed out petulantly.

'Yes, we do, absolutely right. The thing is though, they aren't just green. We have pupils ... the black bits in the middle, and the iris is surrounded by white. Sorry,' Harry said apologising with a shrug. 'So what are you really?'

'Look and see, if you have the strength,' she said, smirking.

Harry looked at her, locking his gaze with hers. The world narrowed around him as if he were looking through a keyhole at something which was far larger than the world could hold. She did not change, but there was a fire in her eyes. He felt that something vast was rising above him although there was nothing to see but a tall, proud woman staring at him from the shadows of an empty alley. He drew away his gaze with an effort and swayed slightly.

'I am impressed,' she conceded, 'not many men can turn away from a dragon's gaze.'

'Of course dragons can shapeshift, I mean why not?' Harry muttered to himself. 'I'm not most men. How did you find me?'

'The Last Friend, the Black Stranger, told me that I would find one of power here. That I would find you alone in this empty land.'

'They're empty because of you. What do you want?'

'Because of me? I have harmed no mortal in these lands, they fled because of their own cowardice. They were too poor for their pitiful wealth to interest me or my Mother, and what did they have that I do not possess? As for what I want, I want your help,' she said, sauntering forwards with a smooth, rolling gait.

'My help?'

'You sound like an echo. Yes, there is a task I have in mind for a man of quality, and you are the first such man I have found. All others fled, they were not worthy,' she said and now she was within arm's reach of him.

'What "task"?' Harry asked, shifting so that his wand was beyond her grasp.

She looked at him for a moment, 'My Mother needs to die.'

'Sorry, what?'

'I said "my Mother needs to die",' she repeated slowly. 'It is her time.'

'You actually want me to kill your mother?' Harry asked, confused. 'Why? Is this a trap?'

'Why would it be a trap? She is old. She can barely make it outside our lair anymore. If no-one comes to slay her she will die in her sleep, an unworthy death for one who burnt cities and slew kings. She must die in battle, and you are her last hope,' the dragon said simply. 'If you accept you may have anything I can give you: perhaps you will desire my help in return, or I can fulfil your wildest dreams and fantasies. Any woman you have ever longed for could be yours if you help me, for form means nothing to me,' she said and she let her robe slip from her shoulders and fall into a pile upon the ground. 'You could have a taste of the possibilities now if you wish.'

Harry shook his head politely, 'Charming as your offer is I think not, in any case I imagine it must be rather cold to be so underdressed in this weather. I have companions I shouldn't leave.'

She chuckled. 'I am dragon. Fire runs in my veins. They will be safer without you.'

Harry's eyes narrowed, 'Is that a threat?'

'No. This land is barren of powers save for we two. We blaze as beacons and they would try themselves against us if given the chance. Even now they gather on your tail,' she said, blinking, and two sets of eyelids flicked down and up.

'You give your word?' He asked, 'This will protect my companions.'

'If you come with me I will mask them so that no creature of the sidhe will find them. Treat this as a sign of my good faith. We will set the true price after the deed is done. Come now, we must go before the Moon sets.'

'Wait,' he said, holding up a hand, hesitating for a moment. 'I'll come, but I've got to say goodbye to them first and keep my promises.'

She looked at him for a moment and then nodded sharply, 'It is good. It shows your honour. I can admire that.'

'Thanks,' Harry said dryly.

'I am known as the Lady Malvine, the Flame of the Morning; by what name should I know you?'

'Harry, just Harry,' he said turning to walk away down towards where the wagons waited.

The horses snickered and stamped their hooves, eyes wide as Harry and Malvine approached. Pen and Hendra who stood with them stepped forward to reassure them, hands gently running down their manes. Malvine stopped and stepped back into the shadows and the horses quietened.

'Is that you, Harry?' Hendra asked the shadows.

'Yep, it's me,' Harry said, giving as convincing a smile as he could manage as he came into the light. 'Excuse me a moment, I just need to go and talk to Two and Crow.'

'Is everything well?' She asked, cocking her head to the side.

'All okay, don't worry, I'll explain in a moment,' he promised, ducking inside the house where the others were eating supper and closed the door behind him.

The Boy looked up as the door opened and the Wizard slipped in. He looked tired and simply raised his hand quietly in greeting.

'Wizard! Sit down, have a drink, they left an excellent ale here!' Fre called from the corner.

'I can't. Crow, Two, everyone, I have to go. Here's the sack I promised,' Harry said, holding up his hand to forestall comment, 'yes I know it didn't take nearly as long as I said it would to make, but don't pretend you don't lie about that sort of thing. Keep my unpaid wages. Count it as the favour you owed that I may go now. The dragon is here ...'

'What?' Crow squeaked as he and the others scrambled to their feet.

'Calm down,' Harry said, paused and shrugged, 'oh what the hell. Look, the dragon says I've got to go with her or a load of something almost undoubtedly horrible will attack us. I know this is a little unbelievable ...'

'You're a sorcerer, these things happen,' One-Eye said, though he did not sit back down. 'How long do we have till whatever it is gets here?'

'It will be fine, if I leave, she's offered to shield you from them. This isn't goodbye, I'll do my best to come to Trewalder by the time of the fair,' Harry promised. 'Though I suppose I've probably lost this job ... sorry.'

'I'm sorry to see you go,' Two said, deciding to politely avoid confirming Harry's statement. 'However, under the circumstances I think we should part as swiftly as possible. No offence meant, but I'd prefer that dragons are as far away from me as possible.'

Morning, when it came in hues of red and gold, saw Harry and Malvine walking over the bare hillside far from any road made by men. Malvine had, to Harry's relief, put her clothes back on and the ultramarine robe flowed around her. She stood on the crest of a hill as the light struck it and threw out her arms. The robe rippled around her and in an instant in the place of a tall woman reared a dragon with glinting blue scales edge with gold. It roared its defiance to the skies and turned towards Harry.

'Come, ride upon my back. We have many miles to go and we must move swiftly. Time is running short. Now that the sun is risen we may fly' Malvine said, her voice, rasping as it was, seemed oddly out of place coming from such a creature.

'Couldn't you have done that before?' Harry asked.

'I am a Child of the Sun, some things are beyond my power without its touch,' she admitted.

'Look, I'm sure you mean it well, but oddly I'm not that keen on trusting myself to ride a dragon. It's not as if there's anywhere particularly obvious to hold onto. However, I do have another solution,' Harry said and then he leapt into the air and his form melted into falcon which spread its blue-grey wings and beat upwards before sweeping round in a low circle. He rounded the plateau and landed again, human once more.

The dragon tilted its head to the side, 'I had not known that there were shape-wearers left amongst men. Is that form fast?'

'It's a peregrine falcon, one of the fastest. I admit I kind of wish it were a sparrowhawk or a merlin, they would be so appropriate, but what can you do?' Harry said with a shrug.

'I do not understand ...'

'No? Well I suppose not. Do dragons read much? There are positives though, I admit the tendency to have cravings for raw meat isn't so great, but the eyesight is magnificent,' he said almost bouncing up and down, 'I'd forgotten how good that feels though.'

'Yes, yes, now if you don't mind? The day isn't getting any longer, and before the Sun sets you must kill my Mother.'


	10. Chapter 10

The dragon's lair was not as Harry had expected. Near the summit of a low, rounded mountain there was a long gash in the mountainside. It was wide enough that one could have dropped a large house down it without touching the sides. A stream plummeted over the lip of the rock, vanishing into the crevasse. Around the water cotton-grass rippled and swayed and the yellow stars of bog-asphodel were scattered over the peaty ground.

Harry swooped out of the sky, tilting his wings with the wind. Just above the ground his form shimmered and in the place of the falcon a young man was running over the rocky slope. He knelt at the edge of the chasm, and peering down into it. 'This is it? How deep is it?' He called as Malvine circled slowly downwards.

She landed gracefully, wings folding inwards. The air blurred and she unfolded from a crouch, a blue cloak rippling around her shoulders.

'Six or seven hundred feet at least,' she said, 'and you must go down by the Witch's Ladder. That is, unless you wish to fly in the dark on the cavern's winds. The way out is easier than the way in.'

Harry peered over the edge, 'So this Witch's Ladder ...'

She strode over to stand beside him, 'I will become the ladder, my bones will be its rungs. The cavern is deep, but there are ledges melted into the rock for times like this. Each time the ladder ends there will be a ledge for you.'

'That has to be one of the creepiest things I've ever heard of. How strong is this ladder?'

'Strong enough, but watch for my smaller bones, and particularly my spine. Please,' with that she fell forwards into the darkness.

The air shimmered and bones rattled over the edge of the rock and down into the darkness. Harry conjured a bobbing werelight, gingerly took hold of the first rung and began to climb. The bones were dry and though they were smooth they did not slide under his fingers or boots. His breath caught in his throat with each fumbling step as he tested the rungs. At times he slid downwards to avoid rungs where the bones shifted uneasily beneath his feet.

After an age Harry's he reached the cavern floor. There was a rattle and Malvine gave a long, relieved sigh. Harry stretched and glanced up. Far above a small sliver of daylight ran across the dome of the cave. He looked around him, in the glow of the werelight, he could see mounds of items lying across the cave. There were piles of gold and silver towers of chalices and goblets; heaps of precious stones; sparkling amulets; arrays of swords and spears, the list went on and on. Treasures beyond counting were hidden here, beneath the earth. Even a tenth of it would have made kings green with envy. It was, however, what lay on the other side of the treasure that caught Harry's attention. A lizard-like head, the size of a cart, with scales the colour of a winter's sky lay on a mound of decaying furs and silks.

He stood watching the great head move ever so slightly with long, slow breaths. Then one eye opened. Dual lids flickered and a red-gold eye gleamed in the light.

'Daughter, you are back. Is this the warrior?' The voice was a stony whisper.

'Yes Mother, the Last Friend told me where to find him.'

'I wonder what His game is. Watch out for Him, Little One. The human does not look like much, though He would know best,' the dragon's eye swivelled round to fix on Harry.

Malvine's gaze had been enthralling. This gaze bound Harry in iron. His limbs froze and his strength drained from him. The world was ash and flame. He saw cities of glass and steel melting. He saw lakes boiling dry and forests burning. His skin was fire and he could not scream. His flesh bubbled, cracked and turned to ash. Then the dragon blinked. Harry fell forwards, coughing and shaking.

'He is strong, Mother, how many men have ever _survived_ your gaze?' Malvine asked, stepping between Harry and the dragon.

'Not many. Now he need not fear any attacking his mind again. Help him up Daughter. Give him some water.'

Malvine helped Harry up and flicked a hand out. A bronze goblet, filled with water from the stream which cascaded down into the cavern, flew to her hand. She held it up to his lips and gently poured it into Harry's mouth. He held up a trembling hand as the water trickled down his chin. His skin was unmarked, unblemished.

'Thank you,' he croaked. He steadied himself and took the goblet for himself. He drained it and let it fall, clinking onto the ground.

'Do you know why you are here, little hero?' The dragon asked, slowly shifting to face them.

'Ah ...'

'He knows, Mother,' Malvine said calmly. 'I told him that he is here to give you the death you deserve.'

'Good.'

'Erm, yes,' Harry said slowly. 'This is definitely what you want? I'm not that keen on the idea of killing you, I was kind of hoping that I might be able to help.'

'It is my time to die. This is not a time for help, it is a time for deeds of valour and renown. It is a time for songs to be made.' The dragon laughed, and coins and treasures rolled over the floor.

'Why?'

The dragon gave what might have been a shrug. 'I was created by your kind long ages ago. All of my folk were, from the seeds of the ancestors. Men were so mighty, and, oh what did they call them? _Scientia_ and _magicae_ , that was it,became one for them. They saw themselves as gods; they changed the world. We were moulded from the raw stardust of the universe as weapons for a new age.

'They forgot that a weapon with a mind may think for itself. We spoke to one another, we knew our purpose, and we knew our desires. They forgot that not all believed in their ordered world. Some called upon older powers; powers we allied ourselves with.

'The world changed. The towers and cities of men are dust now. We did not change though, we were created as weapons, as warriors, and we will remain warriors. It is in our blood. And a warrior _must_ die in battle. I am old, I saw the days when men were gods. I remember them, though thousands of years have passed.

'Even now I am a warrior, and I will not go quietly into the night!' She reared upwards, snapping her jaws. Tongues of fire flickered from her nostrils. 'So little fighter; will you do me the honour, or will I have a meal whilst my last child hunts for a new hero and I wait in my own tomb, surrounded by my grave goods?'

Harry sighed, 'It doesn't sound as if I have a choice.'

'Good. The young wyrm may have her own gifts in mind, but I would give you something myself. Ask a boon of me,' she said, settling down again with a groan.

Harry paused, 'You, ah, you've been around for a while, so I guess you must know the various powerful entities of the realm well?'

'Indeed.'

'I'm looking for one in particular: The Green Man of Knowledge. Have you heard of him?'

The dragon closed her eyes. 'Yes. I have. You are sure you want to find him? He is dangerous and unpredictable. Is that all you want? If so Malvine will show you the way. You may also take anything else you like from my treasure, if you succeed.'

'Thank you. How many have tried, may I ask?' Harry said, letting the werelight dim till he could only just pick out the dragon's bulk on the other side of the hoard.

'How many leaves are there in the forest?' The dragon asked. 'Daughter, leave us.'

'Farewell Mother, may you find glory.'

'Is this it then?' Harry asked, drawing his wand.

The dragon stood, limbs creaking. 'Lo there do I see my father; Lo there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers; Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning. Lo, they do call me, they bid me take my place among them, where the brave may live forever.'

'I'll take that as a yes,' Harry muttered and jumped backwards as talons swept through the air.

He closed his eyes for a second, shielding them with his forearm. He poured power into werelight. It blazed above them like a small sun. The dragon roared, swiping at the globe of light with its claws.

' _Nox_ ,' Harry muttered and the light died. He tapped the wand against his eyelids, ' _Nox videre_.' He looked around, to his eyes the cavern was faded, washed out and grey, but visible. ' _Muffliato._ '

The dragon already shaking its head to banish the after image of the blinding light. 'What trickery is this? Is this how you plan to defeat me? Tricks and illusions. Let me teach you how to play the game.' Flames leapt from its mouth and it swung its head around in an arc. Flames crackled through the air, skimming the treasure. Water hissed and steamed.

Harry's flicked his wand. A blue dome flashed into existence and water poured from the ground sliding over it. The flame struck the shield. Harry was hurled backwards, rolling over on the rocky ground. He struggled to his feet, barely hold the shield steady. Then the flame passed.

Harry staggered as the pressure ceased and released the shield. He pointed his wand towards the waterfall and swished it through the air. The water hung in the air and then surged forwards. The dragon staggered, crashing into a pillar rock. The stone cracked with a thunderclap and shook.

The dragon heaved itself upwards, a blast of white hot fire turned the water to steam. White vapour plumed upwards. The dragon turned and gripped the crumbling pillar between its forepaws. The dragon's muscles stood out like ropes as it tugged. The rock groaned and then shattered. Stones and lumps of granite hurtled through the air. Harry dove behind a pile of gold, raising a small shield over his head as the rocks rained down.

There was silence in the cavern as the dust settled, save for the splashing water. Harry took a long, slow breath. Was the muffling charm was still working? He peered out from behind the mound of treasure. The dragon was nowhere in sight. He looked right and left, his heart hammering in his chest, still nothing. He rolled sideways, on instinct, a second before the massive jaws snapped at him from behind.

'You're fast, little hero. A good thing; you need to be,' the dragon rumbled, panting as it released its pent up breath. 'Come on now. A little chat never hurt anyone, one of us is going to die. Why not die politely?'

Harry sighed and pulled a short sword from a pile, testing the weight. 'Well I must admit I'd hate to have fought you in your prime, or actually ever. Being polite to someone you're trying to kill though? Why? Surely it's nicer to make them feel justified. This though was a terrible idea. Still _, AVADA KEDAVRA!_ '

Harry looked at the dragon as he cast the curse and he saw an ancient, proud creature. A warrior waiting for a fitting end. The hatred necessary for the curse faltered. The deadly green light faded into nothing. 'Shit.'

'Something the matter, trickster?' She slashed her claws towards him and the air split apart as a white lightning bolt sliced through the air.

Harry threw himself to the side as her claws began to move, hastily conjuring a shield. The bolt of brilliant, sizzling energy smashed the shield apart and hurled him across the cave. The shield had taken the brunt of the blast, but his clothes were smouldering and he lay, gasping for breath for a moment.

He hauled himself to his feet with a grunt. 'Do you like killing?'

The dragon's head swung towards him. 'What is battle without death?' Her jaws yawned wide.

' _Gwaywffon drywanir_.' A spear of indigo light leapt from Harry's wand. The dragon twisted, but too slowly. She screamed as the spear burnt through her wing, leaving a blackened, torn hole.

The scream rose into a ululating wail and the golden treasures rose into the air. Harry took a step backwards. He flicked his wand outwards and ancient battered shields shot from the piles of treasure, forming a wall around him. He crouched down, waiting.

The cry stopped suddenly. Then with the force of a hurricane it struck. Golden coins ricocheted off the bronze shields like bullets. Goblets, hurled with the force to crack skulls, clanged off iron sigils and wooden boards, cracking and denting them. The sound was deafening. Harry put his hands to his ears. The tiny flicks of his wand he could still manage kept fresh shields flying into place. Finally, the barrage stopped, leaving his ears ringing.

' _Vade_.' Blue light crackled from the wand. The air rippled. The shields shattered and exploded outwards. Thin shards of wood and metal shot through the air. Fire lanced from the dragon's jaws in a short burst of pure, white light. Splinters and metal were vaporised in an instant. The shock wave hit the walls and the lair shook. Dust spiralled down from the ceiling.

The dragon curled inwards, a hacking cough wrenching at her throat. Harry hesitated, looking up nervously as the rocky walls of the cavern groaned. Then he moved. He scooped up the sword and ran. His feet skimmed over the loose treasure. His wand flicked out, a thin, black whip of shadows curling outwards.

The dragon pulled herself onto her feet and charged towards him. Harry swept his right arm around and the shadow-whip lashed outwards, wrapping itself around the largest of the dragon's fangs. The whip coiled inwards, jerking Harry towards the gaping jaws. Swinging himself upwards he thrust the sword forwards. He almost flew over the dragon's lip. Carried forwards by the momentum of the swing, and met by the charging dragon the steel blade sunk into the roof of the dragon's mouth.

Harry hung on for dear life. The black coils of the whip snaked outwards, binding him to the fangs as the dragon thrashed. Blood streamed from the wound; it washed over him in a river as the dragon shook the sword free and it soared from Harry's hand, out into the cavern. Mighty jaws slammed shut around him. He curled into a ball, barely avoiding decapitation. Then with a bone-jarring thud she collapsed. Harry groaned and rolled out of the open mouth as the shadowy coils of the spell faded away.

He leaned against the dragon's jaw and took a long breath. 'I need a bath.'

Above him the dome of the cavern shivered and the stones creaked. He rolled his eyes and stumbled away from the corpse.

'Come, we must leave,' Malvine said. She appeared out of the shadows. She strode towards him, picking up the sword Harry had used, wiping it clean and sheathing it. 'The lair is no longer stable.'

Harry nodded. 'How?'

'I will fly us out. I never liked the descent, but ascending I can manage,' she said, passing the sword to Harry. 'Take this, there are few blades which have drunk the blood of a dragon. She would wish it to see the light again.'

'Fine.'

A shower of pebbles and rocks clattered over precious bowls and shields. She strode into the small pool beneath the waterfall where it glinted in the light and raised her arms. The water bubbled and frothed around her. Steam curled upwards. The blue cloak flowed outwards for a second before it became a pair of leathery wings. The woman was gone, the dragon had returned.

Malvine turned to Harry, Her long, serpentine neck curving round. 'Come.'

Harry thrust the sheathed sword into his belt and staggered over to her. He heaved himself up onto the smooth shoulders. He applied a quick sticking charm and wrapped his arms around the broad neck. 'Let's go.'

She nodded, brushing her cheek against her mother's flank once more and leapt upwards. Blue wings beat the air, lifting them upwards. Rocks and crumbling stone bounced off her flanks, buffeting them as they rose. She swerved, spiralling out of the path of a cart-sized boulder as it plunged downwards.

Harry raised his wand; a pale, white shield blossomed above them. Rocks disintegrated as they struck it and Malvine shot higher and higher, closing in on the widening gap of daylight. The lip of the gash crumbled, stones plunging downwards. The rocks slammed into the shield. The impact threw Malvine and her wings missed a beat. They hung suspended in the air and then began to drop.

Harry felt his stomach fall away. He could see the wet rocks, hundreds of feet below and the great, grey carcass of the dead dragon lying on the golden treasure. Then with an effort Malvine righted herself and her wings opened wide. They skimmed through the air and she pulled them upwards, drawing them towards the light.

Fresh air filled Harry's lungs as they soared into the open sky. Below them the mountainside split apart and collapsed in upon itself. The hills rang with the crashing boom as the slope collapsed and dust plumed upwards. Malvine roared. She opened her jaws and a billowing flare of fire leapt into the sky, hanging above them as they swept back towards the ground.

In the cave a figure dressed in black glanced upwards impassively and ran its hand along the dragon's flank.

* * *

The castle was perched on top of a rock in the centre of a broad river. High, granite walls loomed over clear, blue waters. Red turrets blazed in the light of the setting sun. There was no movement behind the windows. Creepers and vines curled around the walls, embracing them.

'Welcome to the Dolorous Tower, home of The Green Man of Knowledge,' Malvine said quietly. 'I am not sure where the entrance is. Mother only brought me here once when I was very young.'

'Don't worry. I can take it from here,' Harry said. 'Again, I am sorry for ... well I'm sorry.'

'My Mother died as she wished. Would that all were so lucky. I am not going anywhere though. I have a debt, and if you will not ask for a reward I shall repay it as I see fit. Now shut up about it,' she said, pushing Harry's shoulder lightly. He stumbled, wincing as the movement pulled on his bruised skin.

'No unpleasant legends about the place? My last travelling companions seemed to have a story for everywhere,' Harry said as they began to walk down the worn path towards the river.

Malvine gave him a long look. 'It's called the Dolorous Tower.'

'You may have a point.'

Two hours later they had circled the tower four times. They crossed and re-crossed the old, stone bridges which spanned the river on either side and yet they could find no way in. Malvine had searched the rushes for a boat, but the only sign that there had once been one was a rotted and frayed rope tied to a crumbling, wooden jetty.

'I'm going to have to go alone,' Harry said for the third time.

'But I cannot take another shape without sunlight. I will not be able to accompany you. If harm comes to you I will be shamed for the rest of my life. Please, wait until morning, wait until the light,' Malvine said, gripping his arm. 'I do not want you to come to harm.'

'The castle's empty, I doubt the Green Man is even there. Have you seen the slightest sign of life whilst we've been here? Anyway, even if you could transform, as a dragon there is nowhere for you to land there.'

'I am not bound to dragon-skin or human-flesh. I can feel a presence inside that tower, even if I cannot see it. Something is watching us,' she said.

Harry landed cautiously on the wide window as pigeons, startled the sudden appearance of a predator in their home shot outwards, darting around him. He looked after them, bright eyes narrowed in hunger, for a moment before pulling himself back to the task in hand. He hopped down onto the floor, landing as a man rather than as a bird.

He drew his wand cautiously, looking around the room. It was bare of furniture and dust thick and even upon the stone. The air was dry and filled with the stench of pigeon droppings which lay in piles under the rafters. Holding a hand to his nose he slipped from the room and onto a weathered, spiral staircase.

With a flick of his wand silver light appeared. He made his way down through the tower slowly, peering in at the empty, dust covered rooms. The floors were littered with broken glass from the windows and the corners were filled with shadows. He paused beside a window where the moonlight streamed in; he pressed a hand to his side taking shallow breaths. He peeled back his shirt and looked down, his skin was clammy, the bruises from the battle had turned purple and yellow and spread out over his chest.

'Someday the ghosts of broken ribs I ought to have had are going to catch up with me,' he muttered, straightening the shirt again.

At the corner of his eye he caught a movement. He turned, just in time to see a shadow flit across a doorway to his right. He started and gave chase, hurrying after it. He arrived just in time to see the end of something pale and grey slide out of the room through another door. He ignoring his various aches and strode after it, wand at the ready.

'Wait!' He called, but it ignored him.

On and on the shadowy figure led him, down the dark stairs and through the empty halls. No matter how fast, or how slowly, he went it was always only just flitting around the next corner. Tapestries, grey with dust, covered the walls. It was as he reached a sharp turn in the passage that he realised that, though he left a trail of footprints in the dust, whatever he was following left none.

He took a slow breath and turned the corner. There was nothing but a bare wall. He thumped his hand against it in frustration. The noise should have been a dull thud. Instead the rock boomed under his hand, echoing and shaking. He stepped backwards.

The stone melted, a face appearing in it as if pushing through. It was almost human, but the skin was green and the hair and beard were made of tangled roots of emerald green. A second later a man with skin the colour of summer leaves and a cloak as brown as the earth was standing in the corridor.

'What do you want with The Green Man of Knowledge?' He asked.


	11. Chapter 11

The night was warm. A gentle breeze blew the scent of dust and flowers through the streets. Vines climbed crumbling walls and curled around shabby, wooden shutters. Grapes hung low beneath archways and cats leapt over the rooftops on night-time errands.

Voldemort looked around as Hyrne led the way through the maze of alleys. The city was filled with revellers who slipped past in robe and masks; Voldemort in his usual black and with a white mask, and the fairy in green and gold, passed unnoticed. Two more wandering figures in the masquerade.

'Why are we here?' Voldemort asked.

'Why not? This is the Carnival of Roses. It happens but once a decade and I have not attended for four hundred years. It was a most delightful night. The people sang; the finest wines were broached, and I, as a great dignitary, was treated to the choicest gifts the city could offer.'

They crossed a square where a fire-eater made the flames leap and dance. Sparks blossomed into flowers and dancers in black whirled like shadows between the spinning balls of fire. Around them the audience clapped in time to the rhythm of the guitarists.

'What about the plot against your life?' Voldemort asked. 'Should that not take precedence?'

'What of it? Look around you, my dear friend. Your kind have lives which flicker but briefly. Yet you dance with fire, you risk life, limb and health for one moment of joy. You are an example to us all. What would be the purpose in hoarding a life as some hoard gold? In the end life for life's sake is worthless,' Hyrne said. He clicked his fingers and tapped a passing reveller on the shoulder.

'You: what is life to you?'

The figure turned, revealing the silver mask of a fox. It swayed slightly. 'Wine, women, worthy works, all wake in me a lust for life. Life is lurid, lewd and as lordly a gift as ever man was graciously given.'

The figure spun on its heel and vanished into the crowd laughing. Voldemort stared after it for a moment. 'Are these people quite sane?' He asked slowly.

'As sane as you or I,' Hyrne said. 'Now you really must try the dish they serve here. It is delicious. Sadly, there was a gentleman who took to killing any exceptionally good chefs who knew how to make it, but since he also killed the exceptionally bad chefs the result was not as terrible as it might have been.'

'I am amazed that anyone dares make it at all.'

'Well, the gentleman's own death certainly helped it return to the culinary scene. The pigs must be left in a location where one creature or another may devour their soul. The soulless husks may then be marinated whilst still technically alive without the least resistance. It creates a most superb flavour,' the fairy smiled delightedly at Voldemort as he led him towards a crowd.

'I hate to ask, but are you certain these people are human? In my experience most humans would find such behaviour difficult to manage.'

'Oh indeed, they are humans. They are more accepting of true civilization than many of their kin though. They have come to appreciate the benefits that our race may bestow. In exchange for a few of their number we guide them. I say our race, dear Tom, for I have come to see you as a brother. Your sensibilities, your composure, and your skills are such that I cannot believe you came from entirely mortal stock. You have done me such services that soon I will find a way to begin to repay the debt I owe, I promise,' the fairy said, clasping Voldemort's gloved hand in his.

A familiar chill rippled over Voldemort's skin, despite the glove, but he ignored it. 'You do me a great honour, but I desire nothing, simply let me pursue my own path ...'

'That is impossible. If we are as brothers, then we are inseparable. Once the festival reaches its height at midnight we must embark upon an errand I have long considered.'

'Indeed?' Voldemort asked, slipping between capering revellers.

'Oh yes. You are right, someone is working against me. What was it you told me? The House of Altarnun had given information to a woman who seeks to destroy me. Tonight I will show you what they must have discovered for her,' Hyrne promised, turning down a long set of steps towards the lower city.

Voldemort nodded, grateful for the mask which hid his expression. 'I would be most intrigued. I do apologise that I was not able to discover anything more from my investigations there.' He hesitated for a moment, considering his next move. 'There is worse though ... I had thought to spare you for the moment, at least until after these festivities. The party of travellers you sent me to attack last week carried news that the Brotherhood are gathering. There is an alliance forming against you, there are rumours than an enchantress is behind it.'

The fairy paused mid-stride. He snapped his fingers and their masks melted away He raised one perfect, curling eyebrow. 'An alliance?'

Voldemort nodded.

'Against me?'

Voldemort nodded again.

The fairy's face twisted and he began moving, walking faster than ever, almost running down the steps towards the water. 'That is the final straw. I have been tolerant. I have been moderate. Only those who raised their hands against me have been struck down. No more. I shall make an example, Tom. We shall set to work. First we must perform the task I have in mind, then we shall discover where they are gathering ...'

'I believe Trewalder was mentioned. And then?'

'Kill them. Kill them all,' Hyrne said flatly. He had come to a stop. They were looking out over the dark waters of the lake. On the distant shore lights danced like fireflies. The lamps which hung along the waterfront were reflected in the water, gleaming gold blurs swimming just below the surface.

'Well that's certainly proactive. I imagine that you would only be hindered by my presence. I am sure that your talents will be more than a match for them,' Voldemort said smoothly.

Hyrne looked at him, eyes shining in the lamp light, 'We shall not be alone. If they have summoned their allies, then I shall summon mine. Men's nightmares shall walk under the sun. First though ...'

He turned to the city and raised his hands as if he were about to conduct the prelude to an opera. The air tensed as if the city were drawing in its breath. Somewhere in city the first of the clocks began to chime midnight, long, eerie notes sounding in the night. The rest of the clock towers began to strike, from the smallest to the greatest. As the last chime died away a wind whistled through the streets and the masked figures froze.

Absolute silence fell. There was a slow creaking as from every crack and crevice thorny, green shoots sprang. Leaves burst into life with soft sighs. Buds pushed their way from the briars and split open. The scent of roses filled the air.

'The smell of magic and miracles,' the fairy whispered, 'come Tom.' With that he stepped up onto the parapet and dropped out of sight.

Voldemort peered over the edge. The dark water rippled around a pale boat. He shuddered and cast a few charms before stepping up onto the wall and slowly letting himself float downwards. The wood shivered as he landed and began to move out across the lake. Hyrne sat in the prow, his hand trailed through the water.

'So, what is our objective?' Voldemort asked as the sounds of music and laughter faded away.

'Let me tell you a story. Some four thousand years ago, it may have been closer to ten but such things are unimportant, I met Death, the Last Friend as some know him. I was arrogant, sure in my own remarkable abilities. Death is not common amongst my species, we ... we do not always understand him. I was, for the only time in my life, rude.

'He laughed at me, once I had finished making a fool of myself. It was horrible. Then he made a promise, a prophecy if you will. The details are not important, but it is coming to pass.

'When first the prophecy was made I took the essence of my life and I sealed it away. I put it under ward and watch, in the place we are travelling towards. Ah, forgive me, I will return to the tale in a moment.'

Hyrne stood and raised a hand. He ran it through the air. The lights of the city and the stars disappeared. Water splashed in small waves against wet rocks and the side of the boat. The air was damp and stale.

'Neither speak nor create any light. I must guide us by memory here. Any light or sound you made would be twisted to purposes which were not your own.' He fell silent for a moment and the only sound was that of small waves lapping against the planks of the boat. 'Where was I? Ah yes, my treasure. I sealed it away, for he had promised that only when I had been betrayed, only when the secret of its location was stolen that I would need to act. Only then that I should prepare myself to battle for my life.

'I have, of course, done my best to mollify him over the millennia. You may have seen him ride with us from time to time, and he visits once in a while. The plans of Death though are not so easily overthrown. There will come a day, I am sure, when you must dance his dance, you will discover he has planned every step. If he has nothing else, he has time. Now, I believe we are here.'

The boat crunched on gravel and ground to a halt. A hand grasped Voldemort's and pulled him to his feet. He could smell salt water and pebbles shifted under his boots as he stepped out.

'Now I think we may have light, and you may speak,' Hyrne said. There was a tap and a green glow slowly filled the cave. There was no boat, no pebbles, nor any water. The floor was unblemished white sand stretching out in every direction. Voldemort slowly turned in a circle. They might as well have been in a moonless desert.

'Death himself is after you?' Voldemort asked, filing the information. 'You believe there is a way to defeat him?'

'There are mortal legends of how a man may play chess with Death. Stories of how one may cheat the Devil out of his due. Those are allegorical, yet they have a point to them. Death is a game we play every day. If one plays a game frequently enough one lose eventually. The point, however, is to continue winning for as long as possible,' Hyrne said, striding out across the sands, leaving a trail of footprints in the perfect sand.

'You must have a plan though.'

'Why? I may plan against living beings, there is no plan one may make against Death. I will crush the threat these mortals pose; I shall remove the object of their plans, that is my plan. They think that I will continue as I have done. For millennia I have hidden away the greater part of my power, relying upon its safety. They will imagine I will continue to do so. They will be wrong,' the fairy said.

Grass began to cover the sand and the rocky walls of the cave melted away. The white pin pricks of stars dotted the sky. They were beside a dark ocean. Pine trees and dunes ran before them. They walked swiftly across between the trees and up a dusty track towards a long, low barrow.

'Is this it?' Voldemort asked.

'Yes, this is the place. Do you feel that?'

'No. What is it?'

Hyrne hesitated, 'Nothing, just the wind in the trees. For a moment I believed they were warning me that an enemy was here. No matter, this shall be finished shortly.'

They came to a halt before the barrow. It was covered in earth and long grasses. He stooped, scooped up a handful of sandy soil and blew over it. The dust rose from his palm and a wind blew over the mound. The grasses withered and dried before breaking apart. The wind carved tunnels through the earth until the stones of the barrow were bare. Hyrne's hand trembled slightly as he lowered it. A dark doorway waited for them

'I have not been here in a long time,' the fairy said softly. 'The magic recognises me, but it has grown wild. Dangerous. Be prepared.'

The stones shivered and became a set of steps that led down into the low hill. Bending his head Voldemort followed the fairy into the barrow mound. Darkness closed around them again. He flicked his wand to summon light; nothing happened. He could hear Hyrne's footsteps moving ahead and he followed them. It was a minute or two before he began to hear it: another set of footsteps from just behind him.

He took a deep breath and hurried after Hyrne. He could feel the rough stone walls of the passage on either side and he turned to slip through a gap. Something scuttled overhead and his fingers wrapped tighter around his wand. What had Hyrne meant when he said that the magic had grown wild? Was there something here in the dark beside him?

He glanced around but only pitch blackness surrounded him, there was nothing to see by, even a night vision charm would have been useless. He ran through possible spell for a moment, striding after the fairy's confident footsteps and raised his wand to cast a heat-vision charm. A hand grabbed his wrist before he could cast.

'No,' whispered Hyrne. 'it desires that you should look upon it. That would not be wise. As it is it is no more than sound.'

Voldemort lowered his wand slowly. What if this is a trap though? What if he is aware I have been withholding information, driving him to reveal his weakness? He thought as he waited listening for Hyrne's footsteps. In the silence the fairy must still be standing right beside him.

Then Hyrne's voice echoed up through the passage, 'Tom? Where are you? We must be swift.'

Voldemort took a step forwards, and stopped. How had the fairy moved so far in silence? What had spoken to him a moment ago? The fairy, or something else? He reached out, seeking for any sign that the fairy was beside him. He felt the rock of the walls and then an opening in the passage. The path forked.

Voices called simultaneously from either passage urging him onwards. He hesitated, turning from one to the other. Then, self-consciously, he shrugged and took the left hand path. A minute later he found Hyrne in a pool of torchlight studying a rocky wall.

'Ah, Tom, what kept you?'

Voldemort glanced over his shoulder, back down the corridor, at the darkness. 'Oh, nothing much. I was dawdling. Tell me, what would have happened if I had taken the right-hand path?'

Hyrne turned towards him for a moment, raising an eyebrow. 'There is only one path. Now be a good fellow and come over here. See if you can spot a halved circle inside a triangle, it should be here somewhere. Avoid touching anything.'

The wall was, Voldemort realised, covered in scratches and dusty brown marks, all of which were in the shape of a triangle surrounding a circle divided by a line. 'I can see nothing else.'

'Death does like his little jokes. I'm sure I put it here somewhere, you'll know it when you see it.'

'Jokes?'

'The symbol is his. He tends to put it on his possessions. In a fit of pique, I put it on this gate. It would seem that over the millennia a few people have managed to get this far. I would wager that as they died He dipped his finger in their blood or used their bones to mark the wall. Childish really, but what can one expect?'

It took them hours before they found the sign. A small patch of the wall bare of the marks which covered the rest of it. An inversion of the signs scrawled in dying men's blood. The fairy sighed in satisfaction and brushed his fingers against it. The wall slid open with a low rumble, opening onto a pit around which a stair wound downwards. Voldemort took a step forwards, but the fairy held him back.

'No, I must go down alone,' Hyrne took a breath, staring down into the pit. He held out a hand and a line drew itself around Voldemort in the dust on the floor. 'This must be done alone. You would be at too great a risk there. Wait, and do not trust the shadows. Do not leave the circle. You will know me when I return.'

The fairy braced himself and started down the spiralling stairs. Voldemort looked after him until he was swallowed by the darkness. He sat down to wait, propping his back against the wall. Time ticked by, seconds, then minutes. Ten minutes passed. Thirty. There was no sound, no movement.

'Come, it is done,' Hyrne's voice said from the pit as he came into sight. He held out his hand to Voldemort, waiting for him to take it.

Voldemort stood and took step forwards before stopping. 'Come into the circle.'

'Do not be foolish Tom,' a look of displeasure flashed over the fairy's face. 'We do not have time for this.'

Voldemort tilted his head looking at the fairy. 'Who tailored your suit? It's an abomination, that shade simply does not suit you.'

'What does it matter? If you do not come with me now I shall leave you here in the dark.'

'I think not. Whatever you are you are not Hyrne. Do you think me a child to be persuaded by such paltry tricks?' Voldemort scoffed.

The fairy looked at him for a moment and chuckled. Its features melted away leaving a tall, handsome man with fair, aquiline features and dark hair. 'Thomas, my son, it has been a long time.'

Voldemort laughed, 'A dead man? One I killed? What am I supposed to do, panic? Or try to kill him again. Please, surely you can do better than this.'

'Oh Thomas. Your feelings are so raw, so delicate. A gentleman should always be in command of himself, but you are struggling are you not?' The figure shook its head in disappointment.

'You died in fear with terror covering your features. Your shade cannot preach to me. Be gone,' Voldemort said turning away from his father's image.

'I loved him, Tom, but I loved you more. You know that don't you?' A woman's voice asked, soft and nervous.

'Now what would I see if I turned now? I never saw my mother you see. I do wonder what shape you'll have taken. As beautiful as I presumed she must have been when I was small, or as ugly as everyone told me she was? It hardly matters, whichever it is, it will be a lie. Do you even have a plan to tempt me from the circle?'

There was a sob. 'Please Tom, this isn't a plan they brought me here. They brought me back. They say you can help me; you could save me. The things they do to me ... I can't stand it Tom ... please!'

'I think not. You are trying to push the wrong buttons. I would not cast the smallest charm to save my mother's life. She did nothing for me,' he sneered, closing his eyes.

'Please Tom, I don't have long. I know you're a great wizard, the greatest. They are scared of you. If you just come to me you could save me,' the woman's voice pleaded.

He sat down, refusing to reply, keeping his eyes closed. There were shuffling steps at the edge of the circle. Someone whimpered and then a long scream split the air before it died away into nothing. Voldemort kept his eyes shut, listening to the sound of his breathing. Voices called to him. Enemies threatened him. Victims pleaded with him. Even Dumbledore lectured him. He ignored them all.

One voice cut through the rest. 'Hello Tom, is this what you've sunk to then? A servant to something which isn't even human?'

'You are not Harry. I have seen you change and I am hardly going to believe that you've roped the boy into this,' Voldemort snarled, eyes snapping open.

Not-Harry stepped forwards crouching down to look at Voldemort. 'Oh we know. The thing is, we also know all about the boy. You're going to lead him to his death if you aren't careful.'

'Hardly. I have not seen him in a year. I sincerely doubt that my little bit of revenge is going to harm him in the slightest. Why should I care even if it does?'

'Ah, but you would care, wouldn't you? That's your secret. You don't want him hurt. Shall we show you what it could look like?' Not-Harry reached up and pinched his cheek hard between thumb and forefinger. He pulled slowly, ripping the skin away from his cheek. Blood poured down over the torn flesh. 'Oh would you look at that. How clumsy of me.'

'I have killed and tortured hundreds if not thousands. Do you imagine a little blood and gore is going to disturb me?'

'Not particularly, if it weren't for the fact that everything I do to this body will happen to the boy ... unless you stop me.'

Voldemort's hand twitched. 'No. It will not. You would use such power upon me, if you possessed it. There is no link you could forge to him. Give up your pretence. You are wasting your time.'

Not-Harry straightened up and looked at him. The colour bled from his skin and eyes, the wound healed. His clothes became black robes. His face became hollow and gaunt. The skin stretched like dried parchment. 'Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.'

'You are not Death,' Voldemort said, turning his face away.

'Is that so?' The figure stretched out its hand and a wind blew through the cavern. Dust filled in the line of the circle. The torch guttered and went out. A voice spoke into Voldemort's ear. 'Riddle me this, what is taking him so long? His death has been waiting for millennia, how will you know if his time has come? When will you realise that you must try to escape?'

'Oh dear, oh dear. Now that just isn't the way Death operates is it? Remember I have met him. I have been restrained till now. You have been scraping the surface of my mind. Look into its depths,' Voldemort said. He stood and lowered his defences.

There was silence in the darkness. He felt a tentative touch upon his mind. Then there was a hiss and the presence withdrew hurriedly. The torch flickered back into life. The circle was untouched. Twenty minutes later, when Hyrne returned Voldemort was drawing patterns in the dust with his fingertip and humming.

'Ah, you are back. You have it then?' Voldemort asked.

'Oh yes,' Hyrne held up a small box made from yellowed fingernails. 'When we are far away from here I shall open it and I shall reward you. All was well with you?'

'Very uneventful, thank you.'

Hyrne stepped into the circle. With a snap of his fingers they were gone and the darkness closed in once more.

Three Days Later

Voldemort looked around the chamber. Even by the standards of Lament it was macabre. Seven bodies hung from pillars around the room. Three women and four men suspended from hooks driven into the base of their skulls. The room reeked of the sweet smell of decay and rot. Hyrne was waiting for him in the centre, holding the box they had taken from the barrow.

'Tom, so glad you could join me. I thought you ought to witness the moment when I reclaim my power, and then we shall see to your reward,' the fairy said, smiling at him. Then with a swift motion he snapped the box in half, caught a silver egg as it tumbled from it and popped it into his mouth.

For a moment nothing happened, then Hyrne crumpled to the ground, fingers curving like claws as his head snapped backwards. A howling filled the chamber and Voldemort raised his hand to protect his face as antlers sprouted from Hyrne's brow. They branched outwards in bony spikes like a strange crown. His skin rippled and downy green fur sprang from his skin. He rolled his head from side to side and heaved himself to his feet, running a long, purple tongue over his sharp, white teeth.

He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. His appearance returned to normal, though he wore a thin circlet of bone upon his brown now, from which branched delicate, interlacing spines. Voldemort watched him warily, his fingers curling around his wand as the fairy adjusted. Then the moment passed and Hyrne's eyes locked onto him. There was a wild, green light in them now and his fingers danced through the air of their own volition.

'Well now, this is most ... exhilarating. Let us begin,' Hyrne said, spinning in a circle. 'First, one for sorrow.' He lunged across the room, moving in a blur till he stood in front of an old woman.

'Tragic death, she poisoned herself, too tired to go on.,' the fairy remarked as he plunged his hand into her chest, ripping free the heart. 'Catch!' He tossed the bloody pulp to Voldemort. 'Now put it on the floor, just there. Excellent.

'Two, for joy,' he almost sang as he pulled the eyes from the corpse of a boy who could have been no older than nine or ten. 'Slaughtered as he slept just because it made his mother laugh.'

Voldemort caught the eyes, quickly putting them down as Hyrne leapt across to the next body; a young man. 'Three for a girl. This poor lad decided to fight over a mate, so short-sighted. Anyway, his loss is our gain.' He wrenched open the corpse's mouth and pulling a knife from a pocket of his coat cut out the tongue.

'Wha ...' Voldemort began.

'Shush, be quiet, I want this to be a surprise. Now four for a boy, so that's you.' The fairy stroked the side of a young woman's face. Her skin was purpled and blue at the lips. He pulled out a handful of hairs. 'Perfect. Poisoned on her wedding day by her own sister. Someone ought to write a play about it!

'Five for silver.' The hands of a man with the brand of a thief were thrown towards Voldemort. 'Six for gold. This poor little chit was killed for her fortune; can you believe that? How pathetically small minded. Still killing them before they can be a threat is a good idea. Not that it did the murderer much good. As we have taken her teeth I felt a fair price would be his head. He really had no time to enjoy his wealth, or his secret, which gives us our last.'

Hyrne spun to a stop looking up at the last body which, unlike the others was still alive. It was an old man, blood dribbled from the side of his mouth and he was wheezing with the effort of lifting himself to breath. Instead of a hook driven in to the brain there were silver barbs buried in his arms and hands, keeping him suspended as he struggled to breath.

'Seven for a secret never to be told,' the fairy said as he reached up and plunged his hands into the man's chest as if it were water. The man thrashed weakly and then Hyrne pulled his hands free, holding the dripping remains of the man's lungs. 'Well you cannot tell a secret if you cannot breathe.'

He strode towards Voldemort, trailing blood across the room. He dropped the lungs and bent down, drawing symbols around the grisly pile of body parts with one finger, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. At last arcane sigils surrounded them and he stood up. 'Now, dear Tom, we are going to war. Therefore, let me offer you the finest weapon you could ever wield. If the legends are true you may never be defeated whilst you carry it. It has been taken many times by murder or by stealth, but in this case I will open the way for you. All you need do is reach through and take it.'

The air in between them shimmered and parted. There was another place beyond. Tall pine trees surrounded a white tomb, worn smooth by winds and rain. The ruins of a castle loomed in the distance. As Voldemort watched the tomb opened, the stone sliding backwards. There was nothing but dust inside and a dark wand. He reached forwards unbidden and his fingers closed around it. In his mind he could feel its song. Thunder rumbled in the clouds above.

The portal closed and he was back inside the chamber. Hyrne watched him, eyes gleaming. 'Now we go to war!'


	12. Chapter 12

The throne room was huge. Harry struggled not to look around like a small child as the Green Man sat himself on a throne of vines and creepers. Wispy, cotton-soft seeds, and spores like thistledown hung in the air, spinning slowly. Gnarled, wooden pillars, sticky with sap, dotted the hall. The air smelled of leaf mould and rotten wood. Fungi crawled over the floor. They covered the slick, black ink which leaked from their decaying predecessors. Creeping tendrils wrapped themselves over small, dead animals.

'What dae they call ye?' The Green Man asked as he stretched out his long, bony fingers.

'Traveller,' Harry said. He shifted and something squelched under his boot.

'Traveller?' The Green Man repeated, tasting the word. 'What dae ye seek here? Knowledge? Wealth?' Gold glistered between his fingers. 'Or power?'

'Knowledge. I want to know where I can find two people.'

'Ye are in a hurry. Aye, tis the way with yer folk. Still, some might mistake it for rudeness. Would ye hazard a guess as tae when the last body tae question me came here?'

Harry shrugged, 'A while. By the look of the place you haven't felt the need to tidy up for anyone.'

The Green Man's teeth glinted beneath the shadow of his lips and he twisted a hand to pull a mossy skull from the air. He whispered into it and spun it around. The skull trembled and its jaws opened of its own accord,

'Four-score years and ten have I waited here.

When first I came I meant to learn to fear.

Now by fire and flame and candlelight

I wait and pray for no more night.'

The Green Man stroked the skull and it vanished. 'We play skittles in the evening from time tae time. He dinnae like his role so much.'

Harry folded his arms and sighed. 'Can we move past the melodrama?'

The Green Man frowned. 'Aye. But tae gain the knowledge ye want I must perform the Rite of Ashkente.'

'Oh well, who would have guessed? The Rite of Ashkente, what fun! Love it.'

The Green man blinked owlishly at Harry. 'Ye know the Rite?'

Harry opened his mouth, paused and shook his head, 'Nope, but I thought you'd be impressed if I did.'

'Ye are trying my patience mortal. I will let yer impudence slide this time. Tell me, dae ye feel like playing a game?'

'What? Like chess?'

'Chess? Chess?' The Green Man cackled, pounding the arm of his throne. 'Nay. A real game. Three tasks, the stakes: if ye win I answer three questions; if ye lose yer life is mine,' he said, crooking his finger towards Harry.

'What are the tasks? I am not going to agree to things which can't be done.'

'I will tell ye each task before it begins. Ye may accept or walk away each time,' the Green Man promised. 'Dae we have a bargain?'

'Yes.'

A grin spread across the Green Man's craggy face. 'Then let us begin. The first task is simple. In the highest turret of this castle, in a room without windows or doors there is a key. The key cannae be lifted by any mortal's hand. Bring it here. Can ye do that, Traveller?'

'Oh yes.'

'Within an hour, Traveller?' The Green Man asked, pulling out an hourglass from his cloak.

'Easily,' Harry said.

'Begin.' The hourglass was flipped over and the Green Man vanished in a swirl of leaves.

Harry looked at the hourglass and drew his wand. He cast a quick tracking charm. 'I am not going to lose you,' he murmured and then turned, squelching over the slimy floor.

He reached a shuttered window and gripped the rotten wood. Harry wrenched at it and the shutter fell apart under his fingers. The damp, sticky shards clung to his hands as he widened the gap. To his surprise clear, early morning daylight filtered into the room. He looked back towards the hourglass, but there was only a small pile of sand in the bottom of the glass, slowly growing as the rest trickled through.

He flexed his arms, gasping as the movement pulled on his bruised ribs. Then he heaved himself up onto the windowsill and threw himself outwards. The air whistled by. He reached out pulling the magic around himself. Every inch of his skin prickled and then he swooped upwards, beating his tired wings as he climbed higher into the sky. He circled around the towers which stretched out like the branches of an ancient tree.

It was as he was passing the penultimate turret that the cawing began. It spread, rippling over the rooftops. Crows rose around him in a black cloud. He beat his wings as hard as he could, but a falcon is at its fastest when diving and he was struggling to rise above the ascending cloud. He dove underneath a crow's outstretched claws and lashed out, slicing through another's wing with his talons. The blow slowed him and the crows closed in. He spun amongst the birds, deafened by the cawing. Two collided as he twisted between them and they hurtled downwards before disentangling themselves.

A wall of black feathers rose in front of him and he shrieked at them surging forwards before he plummeted downwards at the last moment swooping through the tiled roofs. Crows, too slow to change course in time crashed against the turrets and slipped into the void. Harry shot upwards striking out at any which came too close. A few landed glancing blows; he crested the roof and let the magic fall away. Human again he braced himself, pulling out his wand as he rolled down the roof. His hand skittered over the tiles. The skin on the palm was torn off before he cast a sticking charm which caught him as he neared the roof edge. He whipped his wand around, a thin shield springing up between him and the birds which screeched in anger, pecking at the dome of light.

He lay panting on the rooftop and pressed the wand tip against the tiles. They vanished, leaving an ugly tear in the roof. He levered himself up, balancing carefully on the sloping tiles before dropping down into the room below.

It was small, barely more than roof space. The only light came from the hole he had made in the roof. Stone dust and a few old nails were all that lay there, save for the key. It was small and made from aged bronze. Deciding it was worth a try he put out his hand to pick it up, but his fingers slid through it.

He sighed and pointed his wand towards it. Swish and flick, 'Wingardium leviosa.'

Nothing happened. Harry frowned at the key. He shuffled round in the confined space, studying the key from every angle. Outside the birds slammed themselves uselessly against the shield and the tiles.

He pointed his wand at the key again. 'Aguamenti.' A thin stream of water hit the key and bounced off. It glistening as the water ran off it and trickled down over the beam. Harry smiled. He turned his attention to the floor, vanishing a section of it before conjuring a rope which he tied to a beam. Then with small, careful motions he cut out the section of wood surrounding the key and cast the levitation charm again. A cone of wood, supporting the key, floated upwards. He snatched the cone from the air and with a few quick motions of his wand coaxed the wood over the key, holding it in place.

Gingerly he grasped the rope, biting his lip as it slid over the raw skin and the scratches the crows had left. He slid gently down into the room below and began to work his way down through the tower towards the signal he had left in the throne room.

He was limping down a long passage when something slid through the window. He raised his wand, ready to curse when the thing straightened up, revealing itself to be Malvine. He gaped at her, speechless for a moment, before finding his voice, 'How did you find me?'

'The scent. Are you well? You have been gone for three days.'

'Three days? It can't be. I've only been here overnight. We need to hurry though. I have to bring this to the Green Man before an hour is up. Not far now.'

'Certainly.' She fell into step beside him. 'He will give you what you desire?'

'I hope so.' He glanced at her and hesitated before reaching into his pocket and drawing out a length of silvery cloth. 'I don't think we should let him know you are here. Put this on. I don't trust him.'

'What is it?' She asked. She took the cloak; the material ran like water.

'An invisibility cloak. Now he should just be around this corner.'

She threw the cloak over herself as they turned the corner and stepped into the throne room. The hourglass stood on the arm of the throne, the last few minutes of sand gradually trickling through it. Harry limped forwards and put the block of wood with the key in it down on the throne.

As the last grains of sand fell into the lower bulb of the hourglass a wind rushed through the chamber. Leaves filled the air. Harry stood in a blizzard of green and brown as they whirled around him. The Green Man stepped from the settling leaves. He eyed the key.

'Ye are quite a lad, Traveller. But ye look tired, not too exhausted to keep playing our game?' The Green Man asked.

'Perish the thought. That was just a warm up. So what's next?' Harry said.

The Green Man stroked his beard of holy leaves and roots. Then he waved his hand over the floor. The ground dropped away, sliding into nothingness as a narrow well, barely large enough for a man to climb down appeared in the floor of the chamber. 'Come and look lad. In this well lies a ring; a ring which would shine through the darkest of nights. That would be a worthy prize would it not? Can ye fetch me that ring?'

'Oh indeed.'

'In an hour?'

'Certainly,' Harry said, nodding.

The hour glass spun and the Green Man vanished into the reflection as the sand began to pour. Harry waved his wand to clear the area and sank to the floor looking down into the well. Far below something glinted in the well.

'Accio ring.' Nothing happened. Harry frowned. 'Of course not, when is it ever that easy?' He conjured a rope and dropped it into the hole. As soon as he did so the rope vanished.

There was a rustle behind him and Malvine stepped up to stand beside him. 'Is all well wizard?'

'I can't get it. I can't conjure anything to reach it, I can't summon it. I can't fly up or down that shaft, it's too narrow.' He looked around the chamber, for anything to help, but there was nothing.

'I could help,' she offered.

'Mmm, what?'

'I could be the ladder, as I was in the cave. With a ladder you may make the trip swiftly and surely. You could be done before the hour is up with ease. You had better take the sword though,' she said, unbuckling it from where it hung at her waist.

'Why not just leave the sword up here? It'll slow me down,' Harry asked.

'The blade has tasted dragon's blood. I do not trust that creature not to take it,' she said holding it out to Harry.

'What does that mean though? It's just a sword,' Harry said as he took it. He propped it against his knee as he bound a strip of cloth around his skinned hand.

'Any wound from such a blade may never be healed by any creature, mortal or immortal, unless the blade's wielder commands the wound to close.'

Harry nodded. 'Fine. Let's start then, the sooner the better after all,' he said, glancing at the hour glass.

Malvine dropped over the edge, feet digging into the floor as they became the start of the ladder of bones. They slid into the floor, holding the ladder in place as it rattled down the shaft. The way was deeper this time and Harry realised, peering down at the ladder, that Malvine's hair bound the rungs together.

Harry buckled the sword to his side and wearily began to climb, descending into the well. The minutes ticked by as he went lower and lower, leaning back to rest against the other side of the well to catch his breath. The light became smaller and smaller above him and a lingering lethargy crept over him. His foot slipped and the toe of his boot shot through a rung of tiny bones before hitting the floor of the well. He froze, heart almost stopping. The ladder shivered under his fingers.

'Malvine, are you okay?' He asked, but there was no answer from the cold, white bones. He crouched and picked up the ring, resting for a moment before he began the climb back up. He focused, swarming up the rungs, fighting his aching body as much as the ascent.

At the top he heaved himself out and rolled onto the flagstones he had cleared. He gasped for breath for a moment, panting and then slowly straightened up. The ladder rattled and then Malvine was clinging to the edge of the wall. With an effort he pulled her out, looking her up and down.

'Are you okay? I could have broken your neck! I'm so sorry.'

'Don't be. 'twas just my little finger,' she held out her hand. The finger was crooked and a little red. 'It'll mend before long. You have the ring?'

He nodded, 'You should take back the cloak and sword; he probably knows you are here, but best to try to hide it.' He unbuckled the sword again. He handed it back to her as she threw the cloak over herself.

The last grains of sand ran through the glass and the Green Man was there in a swirl of leaves. He frowned as he plucked the ring from Harry's hand.

'Is anybody helping ye lad?' He asked. 'How are ye doing this? There are things in my castle I cannae see nae hear. What spell are ye weaving?'

'None of that sort. I'm just a traveller with some answers to win.'

'Or a life to lose,' the Green Man said, taking a seat on the throne. With a gesture the well was gone as if it had never been. 'But yer're quite a lad, and quite a sorcerer too. Ye've bested me twice physically, yet the third time counts for all. I will ask ye three riddles. If ye can give me the answers to them I will answer three questions. But if you lose ...'

'I'll do it,' Harry said grimly. 'At least I can do it without going and finding something else you've lost. Provided these riddles have answers.'

'Dinnae worry yerself. To a lad like ye I am sure they will nae be too taxing. First then, a box without hinges, key or a lid, yet golden treasure inside is hid. What is it?'

'Easy. You ought not to rip off Tolkein though,' Harry said, stretching, cracking his joints. 'It's an egg.'

The Green Man shrugged as if he did not particularly care whether Harry lost or won. 'Ye know some ancient lore, things I thought lost, impressive. So then here's the second: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns without people, mountains without land. What am I?'

Harry frowned, mumbling, 'Rivers without water ... could be the Moon I suppose, but the Moon doesn't have towns at all. A desert? There are areas referred to as great seas, but deserts often have sand, and if they had a mountain it would have to have land. Can I have a minute for this one?'

'Take all the time ye need,' said the Green Man graciously.

'Mountains without land, something imaginary? If it's imaginary someone must be imagining, it. Books then? Books aren't that common, and towns in books normally have people. It has to be something anyone could think of ... got it.' Harry turned triumphantly to the Green Man, stumbling slightly as he made the sudden movement. 'A map. The answer is a map.'

'Congratulations. One more riddle and all the answers you seek could be yours. I sat with my love, and I drank with my love, and my love she gave me light. I'll give the questions three to any man who can read my riddle right.' The Green Man grinned unpleasantly.

Harry stared at him for a long moment running through the riddle. 'Got to discount the last part, of course, so what does it mean? It's symbolic, or a twist on what you'd usually think it meant? But what sort of twist?'

The Green Man pulled another hourglass from his cloak and stared at the black sand as it trickled through towards an unknown moment. There was only a little sand left in the upper bulb. 'Struggling lad?'

'Not at all. Give me a bit and I'll let you know the answer,' Harry said with false bravado.

There was a soft rustle of cloth beside him and Malvine whispered in his ear, almost making him jump. 'It means that he sat in a chair made of his lover's bones; he drank her blood from a chalice made from her skull, and he was lit by a candle made from her fat.'

It was all Harry could do not to pull a face, but he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. 'I can give you the answer if you want it,' he said.

'It's yer life at stake,' the Green Man pointed out.

'True, true,' Harry admitted and repeated the answer Malvine had given him.

Anger flashed over the Green Man's face and he rose from the throne. The vines and creepers lashed around him, writhing in an unholy halo. 'How did ye know? Ye didn't know! It were nae one ye could have guessed. Who told you?'

'Can you see anyone else here?' Harry asked weakly. 'I was toying with you. Now pay up.'

The Green Man's face calmed, becoming expressionless. 'Aye. I suppose I must. Ask yer questions. I shall go and find the answers and return.'

'I am looking for two men, one named Sirius Black, the other called Tom Riddle. Where are they? Where must I go to find them? Those are my first two questions,' Harry said firmly.

The Green Man bowed his head in acknowledgement. He placed the hourglass upon the arm of the throne and vanished in a flurry of leaves. Harry swayed, skin pale.

'We need to get out of here soon. I feel terrible. Too tired. Will you be okay?'

'Yes,' Malvine whispered. 'Beware though. He is taking this too well, I would wager that he has a trick or two up his sleeve.'

Harry nodded and sat down on the flagstones he had cleaned earlier. A rumble of thunder sounded from somewhere within the castle. The spores and seeds which hung in the air trembled and tumbled through the air for a moment before settling again. There was a howl of wind and the Green Man strode from the shadows. He bowed mockingly to Harry and sat himself again. He glanced at the hourglass.

'I have the answers, lad. They are in different places, one much farther away than the other. The first is but a word or two away and ye could meet him now if ye chose. The second is lost, but soon will be found. As ye didn't specify exactly what ye wanted that is all the answer ye'll get. As to the second the answer is simple; go to Trewalder. If ye get there within the week ye'll meet one for sure and if my sources are correct ye'll meet the other,' the Green Man said. 'Now do you have a last question to ask?'

Harry shook his head. 'Not now. Maybe I'll come back some day to ask the last.' He stood shakily, face drawn. The last grains of sand in the hourglass ran out.

'Mayhap you would ... if ye were going to be leaving here at all,' the Green Man said. His green eyes sparkled like emeralds in firelight. Harry moved to draw his wand but he fumbled and the Green Man held out a hand. 'I think not.'

Harry froze in place unable to move. His limbs were immobile, beyond his control. The Green Man wriggled his fingers and Harry's arms and legs danced in time to their movements as if he were a marionette. He tried to open his mouth and to his surprise found he could speak. 'What have you done?'

'Ye see these little things?' The Green Man asked, plucking a downy seed from the air. 'As soon as ye entered this room they attached themselves to ye. Burrowed into ye skin. It takes a while for them to work, but after about three hours they can override yer own body. They control you now, and I control them.'

'You can't be serious. I've played your game, let me go!' Harry snapped, trying useless to pull himself free from the invisible chains.

'Nay, I cannae do that lad. Well I could, but it would nae be so fun. It would damage my reputation though. With a fresh body like yers, brim full of magic, I could do so much. He will be pleased too, said I could nae get you this way. I guess there are things even he cannae foresee,' the Green Man said. He stood and stepped down from the throne. He slowly swept across the floor. His cloak trailed behind him, sweeping through the black ink. He stalked around Harry, regarding him from every angle. 'The question is though, what has Him so worked up about ye lad?'

'I don't know who you're talking about,' Harry said through gritted teeth. He managed to twitch a finger.

'Ah, ah, none of that,' the Green Man said and pain shot through Harry's leg as if a spear had been thrust into it. He sunk to one knee yelling out in pain.

'We had a deal, you lost. You don't get my life,' Harry growled through clenched teeth.

'Nae, we had a bet. That bet's over. I will nae deny it was fun, but now the rules have changed,' the Green Man said, cupping Harry's chin in his long, cold fingers.

'I have one question left.'

'Then I will leave ye here until ye ask it. Ye can end this, if ye please. After that, Traveller, yer life is MINE!'


	13. Chapter 13

Harry strained to move, his fingers trembled with the effort, but that was all. 'Wait! Surely you want something.'

The Green Man turned slowly back to him. A smile twisted his lips upwards 'Be careful, Traveller, that was almost a question. Why should I need or want anything? The simple pleasures are enough for me. Now either ask your question, or I'll leave ye till then.'

'Presume I won't talk. I'm very stubborn. You'd better get on with whatever you have planned,' Harry said. His shoulders were beginning to ache with the enforced posture.

The Green Man flowered, eyes narrowing to slits. 'Dinnae provoke me.'

'I doubt it would make a difference. I bet that if one had some sort of protection against this ... infection, you wouldn't be able to do a thing.' Harry's eyes tracked a patch of air, free of the falling motes of dust, which was slowly moving behind the Green Man. 'Give me five minutes and a cup of tea and I'd be able to get rid of them, I bet.'

'Yeh talk a great deal for a dead man,' the Green Man snarled, running a talon-like finger through the air, millimetres from Harry's cheek.

Harry blinked. 'I don't think you can truly harm me ...' Pain lanced through his hand. Harry screamed, the pain faded and he was left panting for breath. 'Oh, sure, that hurt, but I'm physically fine.' He wriggled his fingers to prove it, before staring at them.

The Green Man shook himself, skin rippling like water, 'Yeh won't get free. Ye might have the strength to resist for a moment or two, but yeh cannae escape from here, nor will yeh outlast me.'

'Out last, interesting choice of words there, 'Harry panted. 'You might think there was a time limit on this infection. You've spun your web tightly, but I'd wager you could end this, if you wanted to.'

'Perhaps, but boy, what could ye possible offer me? I'm the Green Man of Knowledge, when my creators made me they gave me all mortal knowledge. By the time they fell I had learnt to think for myself. Now I know more than any being, living or created, upon the face of this earth.'

'You have a point, but let's cut to the chase ...' Harry said, and his eyes twitched to the right.

There was a slither of cloth as the invisibility cloak slid off Malvine and she lunched forwards. A stout steel blade glinted in her hands and bit deeply into the Green Man's shoulder. He screeched as she wrenched it free. Folds of leafy flesh rose in crest around his neck. He lurched forward, turning awkwardly as he stumbled. A black spear flickered into existence in his uninjured hand and he drew it back, only to pause as Malvine tickled his throat with the sword's tip.

'Who are ye?' The Green Man asked, taking a small step backwards.

'Don't even think of it,' Malvine warned, slipping to the side so that she stood between the Green Man and Harry. She lowered the sword, letting her arm hang loosely by her side. 'Stop moving. Do not even think of trying to infect me. I doubt, given my physiology that it would work, but even if it were to I have plenty of time left before the three hours are up. I could easily cut you into pieces so small a crow wouldn't bother with you.'

The Green Man chuckled, though his eyes remained hard as flint. 'Ye think a few cuts with that butcher's knife would inconvenience me?' He straightened up and turned his head to them, revealing the wound. It oozed a thick golden fluid. The edges of the cut blurred and melded together as the liquid ran upwards, back inside his flesh.

He sneered and had half-turned back to them when the wound burst open again. It was ragged around the edges now, a deep tear, rather than the clean slice it had been. Malvine lowered her blade, not quite resting its tip against the ground.

'What have ye done?' He spat, almost doubled over as the wound reasserted itself. His spear fell from a nerveless hand, melting away as it hit the flagstones. He knelt on the stony floor, breathing in sharp gasps.

'For the Man of Knowledge you know surprisingly little,' Malvine said mildly. 'Let's see if you can work it out.' The blade leapt upwards and slowly ran over his cheek, drawing a thin line of golden blood.

'There are only a handful of artefacts which can cause wounds of this nature; this is not the Dolorous Blade, nor the Spear of Antioch,' the Green Man said, almost to himself as he pieced together the puzzle, 'it is a fresh blade; the others are of ancient design. Only one method is still known to create such weapons.' He looked up at her, eyes narrowed, 'The lifeblood of a dragon? Who did you kill to make this blade?'

'I killed no-one. It was my Mother's time. She went as all members of my kind should: in blood and fire.'

'Who was she?' He asked, quietly.

'One of the last, great dragons. One who remembered the Before. Her names were too many to list. I could stand here till the sun had risen and sunk thrice and I would only begin to near the end of her names.'

'Give me one of them,' the Green Man said, there was almost a note of desperation in his voice. 'Please.'

'She came here once, as Angharad. Now will you make a deal with me?'

'You are Angharad's daughter?' He shook himself, glanced up at her and nodded.

'Good,' she lowered the blade again. 'First, tell me how to free this man?'

'He must drink from the waters of the lake beneath this tower mixed with the ashes from rowan, oak and pine. Then he will be free from the infection. This must be done before sunset three days from now, or the infection will come to possess him completely,' the Green Man rasped. 'You have my word upon it.'

'I will also have your word that you shall not harm or seek to harm either this sorcerer or me,' Malvine said.

The Green Man nodded slowly. 'Upon the memory of those who created the intelligence whose form yeh see before yeh, I swear that I shall neither harm nor impede either of yeh.'

'Then I swear that once the infection is gone I will command your wound to close,' Malvine said and turned to Harry. 'Ask your last question.'

'I think I'll hold it in reserve, just in case,' Harry said weakly. 'You don't think you could get him to allow me to move?'

Malvine raised an eyebrow at the Green Man who, chagrined, waved his uninjured hand in a lazy wave. Harry wobbled for a moment and collapsed. The Green Man looked up at Malvine. 'Good enough?'

Malvine looked at Harry and gave a short nod. 'I require a balcony, or a way out.'

'Follow me, though I could move faster if yeh were to allow me to heal,' the Green Man suggested as he struggled to his feet. He bowed his head in submission as Malvine glared at him. 'Can ye walk, Traveller?'

'I think so,' Harry said with a groan as he pushed himself up. Malvine caught his arm and pulled him to his feet. 'Do you trust his word?' He whispered to her, she nodded and let him go. He stumbled as he followed them from the chamber, putting his hand against the wall as they went. The way was blessedly short and before long they came to a long herb garden which ran around a fold of the tower's rock.

'You will, I expect, be free of your wound by this evening,' Malvine said, wiping the sword on an overgrown patch of thyme before sheathing it. 'Remember though, if I come back I will not leave a stone of this place standing.'

The Green Man chuckled, 'Ye will never find this castle again, bairn.'

'For your sake I hope so.'

Harry sighed, lowering himself onto the balustrade. 'Tell me when you've finished, and no, that isn't my question.'

The Green Man drew his mantle more tightly around him and looked over at Harry speculatively. 'I know something you will care about.'

'I'm sure you do. You are the Green Man of Knowledge,' Harry said, lying back on the damp stone. 'Can we get going, Malvine? Only my breath is a little tight.'

'Of course …'

'Wait,' the Green Man interrupted. 'If you go to Trewalder, you will die.'

'Everyone dies in the end. If I didn't go I'd still die. You might as well say that if I go there the Sun will rise,' Harry pointed out. 'Try a new trick.'

'You will die there, as a direct consequence of going. Surely you want to know how to avoid this?' The Green Man said. The wind from the lake swept over them and a brown leaf was whipped away from his beard, it danced upwards over the castle into the steel-grey sky.

'And if I did I might well walk into a worse fate.'

'Ye'll regret this in time, Traveller.'

'We'll see …' Harry murmured as the blackness rose up to claim him.

Harry awoke to find himself lying between a fire and the lake. Night had fallen and the pebbles around him were beginning to glisten with dew. He drew a breath and fell back coughing, wincing as the stones dug into his back. Strong hands appeared, pulling him up into a sitting position and thumping him on the back until the coughing died away.

'Malvine?' He asked weakly through the pounding in his skull.

'So you are awake then? Good. Everything is prepared,' she said.

Harry blinked, trying to focus and realised that she had wrapped him in her own blue cloak with the invisibility cloak as a cushion for his head. She wore only a thin robe, almost black in the firelight.

'Sit up. Drink this.' She held a shallow bowl up to his lips.

'What is it?' He croaked.

'The counter to the infection, of course. Drink.'

He obliged, opening his parched lips. She tipped the thick, ash flavoured water into his mouth. He grimaced and swallowed the gritty liquid. A little dribbled down his chin, but he managed to choke down most of it. The change was not, to his disappointment, instantaneous. She set him back down.

'Sleep. We will decide what to do tomorrow.'

'We?' Harry asked.

'We,' she said and there was no room for argument in her voice. She began to hum as he closed his eyes. The tune was strange to his ears. It was slow and soothing, in the woods around the lake the night birds fell silent as they listened to the dragon's song.

They walked slowly along the narrow track. Harry had fashioned himself a rough staff after they had decided to press on to Trewalder.

'Are you certain you cannot fly?' Malvine asked again.

Harry shook his head wearily. 'I'd fall from the sky before we got a mile. I doubt I could even hold onto you if you were to allow me to ride. I need to rest.'

'What if I carried you in my talons?'

'I'd rather not,' he said, setting down his back and leaning against a rock with a sigh. 'Any idea how far we have to go?'

'I am not sure. Perhaps thirty miles as the crow flies, maybe forty as the wolf runs. It has been a long time since I came this way.'

'A couple of days then. We can afford that.'

'Can we? He said you need to get there within the week. What does that mean? Are you to get there within seven days, or by the week's end?'

'It's enough time either way. I can't push on faster than this,' Harry insisted quietly. 'I've got a trick up my sleeve which will get us there faster, but I need to be rested for that to work, and we need to be closer.'

'What trick?'

'It's called apparition, or at least a variant of it. We used to be able to travel hundreds of miles in an instant with it, but I've only managed to get as far as a day's walk, and it takes its toll.'

'Teleportation? I thought that was a myth.'

'It's a work in progress. In the place I came from magic was,' Harry hesitated, trying to think of an appropriate simile, 'it was like a plain. There were places it was difficult to go, but it was fairly even and those could be removed. Magic here feels as if you're walking ice. One wrong step and you go crashing down.'

'You are not filling me with confidence. It may be that magic was that way here once, if the stories my Mother told me were true, but the Dreaming Wars changed that. Whether you can do this or not though we ought to press on.'

'Do we have to?'

'I think it would be for the best. Look to the North,' she said. He turned, following the line of her finger. On the horizon huge black storm clouds loomed. 'We ought to find shelter.'

Harry levered himself up with the staff and began to plod down the track. Malvine glanced towards him and cast a last look back at the clouds, beneath which she could make out the first flickers of lightning. She barely paused to look at them though, jerking her head back to Harry, a frown wrinkling her brow. 'Who was that?'

'What?' He asked, turning back to her.

'There was another walking beside you. Mantled and hooded, I could not tell if it was a man or a woman, but who was it? Did you see them?'

'There's no one here, just the two of us,' Harry said, a little more roughly than he intended.

'You walk with strange companions,' she murmured and left it at that.

The storm was snapping at their heels when they came to an old stone bridge across a river. At other times the water might have been inviting, but now it was a frothing torrent which clawed away at the banks on either side and dashed into an abandoned mill chase. The mill itself, a low grey building of slate, hunched by the side of the river, its wheel unmoving. The roof was partially collapsed, holes showed here and there. The door was rotten, hanging from its hinges and covered in thick wet moss.

'I fear this is the best we will find,' Harry shouted over the wind.

'It's better than nothing. Go inside. I will hunt for food, though it is likely that any game has fled to its den,' she replied.

'You'll be soaked to the skin. We can share some of my supplies,' Harry yelled.

She threw her head back and laughed, tilting her face upwards into the first fat drops of rain. 'I am of the dragon's blood. Getting wet is not going to be a problem to me. Now go inside, but take the sword for me,' she said unfastening it and tossing the sheathed blade to him. He caught it awkwardly in his left hand.

'Wait, take this,' he said, fishing the invisibility cloak from his pack. 'You might need it.' She nodded her thanks and he watched as she strode into the woods around the mill, her form blurring as she went.

He shook his head briefly and dodged in out of the rain. A few small spells and the ground was dry and clean. There was a pile of wood in one corner, left by someone for a fellow traveller in need and he set himself to building a fire. He crouched down beside the pile of wood and dug through his pockets for flint and tinder. He drew it out, and his sleeve caught something else which slipped out onto his palm as he prepared to strike the flint. It was a small black pebble with a design upon it of a triangle, surrounding a circle and bisected by a straight line. He looked at it curiously for a moment, 'Where did I get you?' He asked himself, 'It was that night on the moor wasn't it? When Tom was still around. You do keep popping up don't you, like a bad penny.'

He grinned and flicked it up like a coin. It spun, once, twice and then he caught it. There was a tension in the air, and for a moment he shivered before a blast of thunder roared overhead and the spell was broken. He lit the fire and made himself as comfortable as he could, drawing out a blanket from his pack for bedding. The rain hammered down on the slates, forming puddles on the uneven stones of the millhouse floor. Harry fidgeted, pulling out the small black pebble and examining it. It had been deliberately shaped and the stone was surprisingly warm under his fingers as he turned it this way and that as he peered at it. He flicked it into the air again, feeling its weight. It spun lazily, once, twice and then, halfway through the third spin, a hand flashed out and caught it.

Harry jumped with a yelp, scrabbling backwards until his back was against the rough wall. On the other side of the fire just beyond the range of where his peripheral vision would have caught him sat a figure with skin like parchment. His eyes were like little shards of jet in the firelight and a deep cowl shadowed his features. He held the stone in one bony hand before flicking it across to Harry who caught it reflexively.

'I'm sorry,' Harry managed, 'I didn't see you. I hope I didn't wake you. I suppose you must have been in the corner before I arrived. Please warm yourself by the fire.'

'Thank you,' the man said, stretching out his long limbs. His eyes never left Harry's face. 'You should be careful with that stone.'

'I don't think it's precious,' Harry said, thrusting the pebble back into a pocket. He eased himself back towards the fire.

'Appearances are deceiving.'

'They are indeed. So what brings you out to a place as remote as this?' Harry asked. The fire seemed to be giving off very little heat and he tucked his hands under his arms to warm them.

'Unfinished business.'

'Hmm, oh, by the way I'm known as Traveller,' Harry said, extending his hand towards the man. The stranger hesitated for a moment and then reached out to shake. Harry's hand tightly for a moment as he felt the cold, dry skin under his fingers. Harry held the stranger's hand for a few moments until the hand was deliberately pulled away. 'Now there's something you don't see every day.'

The man looked a little uncertain. 'What is?'

'Did you know you don't have a pulse?' Harry asked, adding another piece of wood to the fire.

'I had not considered the matter, I suppose that was a mistake.'

'What are you?'

'I am Death,' he said quietly. 'And I have been waiting a long time to meet you.' The only sound was the patter of rain on the roof.

Harry blinked, 'Well I didn't see that coming. I don't feel particularly unwell. Should I?'

'No. Most men, when we meet plead, beg or bargain. One or two are too arrogant to cower and instead they try to threaten or cajole. They do not understand my nature. You do not seem to be inclined that way.'

'I rather expected we would meet one day. It's been rather longer than I would have liked, but I guess you have a packed schedule,' Harry said with a small shrug. His blood pounded in his ears and he was beginning to sweat. 'It, you I mean, come to us all. If anything you're a bit late for me.'

'I have not come for you. Not today.'

'Then why are you here? If you are who you say,' Harry challenged.

'Look at me, you know I am. I have come to tell you something. If you go to Trewalder ...'

'I will die? I got that message from the last supernatural bloke I met,' Harry said, trying to rub warmth into his arms.

'Do not interrupt me, please,' the stranger said quietly.

'Sorry,' Harry said, suddenly shamefaced. 'I meant no offence.'

'You did, but I will take none. No future is set in stone. You may well die if you go, if you do I will be there for you to open the door to you. However, you will have choices. You may choose to live, if you do others will die.'

'Who?'

'You will know when the time comes.'

'I rather thought I was at least partially bound to this life. I don't age, and I have made an unbreakable vow that I won't make any choices to endanger it,' Harry said ruefully.

'An unbreakable vow, it is not a particularly accurate term. Death breaks unbreakable vows. Confidentially,' he said with a small smile, 'I may tell you that events conspired some time ago to free you.'

'Forgive me if I don't put it to the test,' Harry said. 'One question, why come to me now?'

Death give him a long look. 'I could not, until now.'

'Why?'

'Have you ever heard of the Deathly Hallows?'

'That's a fairy story isn't it? I realise that sounds a tad ridiculous under the circumstances,' Harry said after a moment's pause. 'I know the basics, three brothers, you, three gifts which got them killed. Typical death-centric fairytale.'

'Almost correct. The first two perished. The third lived a long, long life, until when his children and grandchildren were grown he decided that the time had come to move on. Do you remember his gift?'

'Let's see, there was a wand, a cloak and stone …' Harry glanced towards the stone in his hand, uneasily. 'Is this, well, you know?'

'Yes. That is the Resurrection Stone. I would caution you not to use it, no happiness has ever been brought by it. That was the second brother's gift. The third asked for my cloak. A cloak of invisibility which would never age and which even I could not pierce. However, you recently gave it up of your own free will. I have no doubt that it will be returned to you in the near future,' Death said simply. The firelight flickered over his waxen features as a gust of wind tugged at the flames.

'The invisibility cloak? Seriously?' Harry asked.

'Deadly.'

Harry raised an eyebrow, 'Did you just ...?' He shook his head. 'Anyway, why do I even have the stone though?'

'Dumbledore left it to you.'

Malvine's voice called from outside, 'Harry? Are you in there? Could you help me with this?' Harry glanced away towards the door and when he looked back there was no-one else there.

'Coming,' he called and stood a little shakily. When he was outside Malvine handed him his cloak and together they dragged a large hind into the millhouse.

She froze. 'Was someone here? There's a scent which does not match.'

Harry drew himself up as he set down his end of the deer, wiping the blood from a puncture wound off onto the slightly scorched pelt. 'Death.'

Malvine flinched, 'Do not call him that, it is not polite. He is the Last Friend. What was he doing here?'

'Just a chat. Why do you call him that?'

'What may the dying man hope for, if not for the care of the reaper?'


	14. Chapter 14

The slate grey clouds hung low over Trewalder, promising snow. Lamps burnt low in their iron cages around the market place. The flames left dark soot marks on the glass as they burnt steadily, shedding a warm light in the twilight. The lamplighter reached his wick up to the last one before hooking the thick, rippled glass back into place. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and strode off into the dusk. The Boy watched him go, before turning away his gaze lingering on the glass which seemed everywhere in the bustling town.

'Here, take this,' Slipper said breaking in on his thoughts as she half-chucked the Boy a parcel of food. She laughed as he sniffed it. 'Go on, it's not poisoned!'

'What is it?' He asked as he peeked inside the soft pitta bread.

'A kebab, take a bite. You'll like it,' she said, beginning to wander away through the market. 'Come on. No time to dawdle.'

The Boy took a bite and paused, startled by the mix of flavours. He could recognised the garlic, onions and a hint of coriander, but the others were foreign to him. 'What's in this? I ain't tasted its like afore.'

Slipper's eyes twinkled in amusement, 'Don't know rightly. Coriander, ginger, lemon, cayenne … this and that. If you think that's good though, you have no idea. Come on, there's usually a stall with sweetmeats near here. I'd bet you've never had the like.'

She grabbed his hand and he followed her through the crowd of bustling shoppers. There were food-stalls selling fruits he had never even heard of, more cheeses he could have imagined and pastries so delicate and intricate that it seemed a shame when Slipper insisted that they had to eat them. The market was a wild medley of colour, sounds and goods, some distance away from the food, to keep them free of the smells of cooking, there hung silks, furs, cloaks, cloaks and clothes of all descriptions; he could hear the distant clash of hammers on metal from the blacksmiths, and there was at least one stall they passed where amber and amethysts intermingled with more precious gems which sparkled in amulets, torcs and armbands.

'This place is amazing. I didn't think anywhere had so many things,' he murmured, as he paused to look at a small carving. 'What is this?'

'You say that a lot you know,' Slipper said, 'If you're not careful you'll get a reputation as a half-wit.'

'You don't think I'm a half-wit do you?' The Boy asked.

'Course not, anyone could tell that'd be overestimating your wits,' she said, but she winked at him as she said it. 'Don't worry, lad, you just haven't been around much yet. In any case, this is a phoenix. They're mythical birds of fire, chooses to die and be reborn. Immortal.'

'Then why ain't they everywhere?' The Boy asked.

'Guess even a phoenix can choose to die for real if'n it wants to,' Slipper said with a shrug. 'Haven't really thought about it.'

A troop of men and women dressed in black leather, with short swords at their hips and wide-brimmed hats strode down the centre of the alley between the stalls. A woman of medium height, with long brown braids of hair, and bright green eyes, clad in a long scarlet robe was leading them. Though they were talking amongst themselves the shoppers and stall holders fell silent around them, suddenly intent on their goods or their hands. Slipper pushed the Boy to one side until the group had passed by.

The Boy shivered and shook himself as people began to resume their chatter. 'Those are the Brotherhood, ain't they? I didn't think they came together so.'

'They don't,' Slipper said. 'If you look though, they're all around here.' She pointed to a window where two men in black stood talking, just visible at the edge of the shadowed room. 'I don't like it. Last wasn't lying, I guess. Something's up and they're here to deal with it.'

'I can't remember a tale with more'n two 'em in it,' the Boy whispered. Now that she had pointed them out he began to notice that there were men and women in black scattered throughout the market. Most of them were almost unnoticeable, just slipping by without leaving a trace on one's memory, but all of them were armed.

'No. Nor I, perhaps we ought to head back soon,' Slipper said, subdued.

'Doesn't sound a bad idea,' he said. 'Do you think Harry will be here? I'd kind of feel better if we had a sorcerer with us.'

'Lad, he went with a _dragon_ , you don't come back from that,' Slipper said. 'Hendra was near heartbroken. I think she had a soft spot for him. Oh, sorry,' she said as she bumped into a man with dark hair and striking haunted grey eyes. She dragged the Boy along behind her. There was a stillness to the air, the Boy realised. There was no sound of dogs barking or calling birds. Slipper's hand felt hot and slick in his. The aftertaste of the rich pastries was heavy and sickly in his mouth. He shook himself, trying to bring himself back to normal.

The first flakes of snow tumbled through the air. The Boy looked up at them, his vision blurred for a moment, as if he were watching through syrup and the cold bit into him. Around him he heard men and women cry out in sudden shock as the temperature dropped. The wind howled through the down, swirling the falling snow in twisting flurries. The puddles crackled as ice spread over them in an instant.

The Boy gasped, clutching at his throat, almost falling to his knees. The air in his throat scratched like icy daggers. 'Slipper …'

She had recovered herself as the sudden cold retreated a little and wrapped her scarf tightly around her throat. She offered him a hand. Her fingers shook with the cold. 'Come on, up you get. Summat's up, I want to get to the walls. Can you make it?'

He nodded, turning up the collar of his coat and tucking his hands under his armpits. She led the way, picking a path between stumbling shoppers. There was chaos in the streets. Folk milled about, eyes wide with fear, mumbling nonsense. From outside the walls there came howls, wails and screams.

The black clad warriors were barring the gate as they reached it, slamming rowan wood bars across it with cold efficiency. No-one was paying much attention as they slipped up the stairwell to the walls. The snow was whipping against the sandstone walls. Down the road men, women and children were feeling from something. The dark trees of the wood, beyond the wicker fence and the rown grove trembled, branches thrashing in the wind. From further back in the blizzard they caught the sound of screams.

'Open the gate!' Slipper yelled down. 'There are children out there!'

Dark shapes came after the fugitives, some running, and some loping. There was a flash of a blade and a woman at the back of the party fell. The pursuers were on her in a moment. They swarmed over her and the Boy felt bile rise in his throat as he realised that they were tearing at her with their teeth. One raised its face and he saw the blood trickling down over is jaw and teeth as it gave a long, ululating wail.

'Dear gods, what are those things?' He breathed.

'They are the fae,' Slipper said in a small, hollow voice. 'We are all dead meat.'

Below them desperate men and women hammered on the gate begging to be allowed entry. Shapes prowled beyond the fence. A man swore beside the Boy, 'Damnit, get some archers up here! Call out the guard.'

'Can't we open the gate?' The Boy asked, trying to catch the man's sleeve.

The man ignored him, drawing back his own bow. For a moment the Boy thought he was going to loose the arrow at the shadowy shapes beyond the rowans. 'Sorry Boy, this is the kindest thing we can do for the poor sods,' the man said, loosing the arrow into the pleading crowd.

The Boy turned away in horror, looking out across to the figures gathering like wraiths beyond the fences as archers filed onto the walls. Some wore the black leather of the order, but most were townsfolk, or guards from the merchant caravans. A tall woman with green eyes, clothed only in a light summer robe and carrying long thin blade, joined them on the walls. She directed the defenders to their positions. Despite the snow and the wind the rowan trees caught fire, and the fence with them. The wood blazed upwards with pale flames.

* * *

Black feathered arrows rained down on the fae host as it advanced towards the town walls. It was a wild mob as much as an army, but it was seemingly unending. Mountain men, dressed in thick furs, with glazed eyes and wicker shields surged forwards bearing ladders and grappling hooks upon their backs. The slaugh wheeled above them in vast dark flock. Pale lords strode through the ranks, batting aside missiles with long blades or chanted spells. The blizzard swept around the walls cutting visibility to barely more than twenty feet, hurling the shafts off course.

The slaugh threw themselves at the defenders with reckless abandon, ripping with shadowy claws. When they landed they shifted from formless, fluttering shadows to thickly muscled creatures covered in matted pelts. Bony snouts snapped and tore at the men and women who guarded the ramparts. The first had shrieked as they landed, bodies melting into black sludge, but they kept coming and as the fallen soaked into the rosy sandstone fewer and fewer twisted like candles as they landed.

The mountain folk slammed their ladders onto the ground, securing them on the walls with hurled hooks, before beginning to climb. The snow below the walls was thick with bloody slush and broken bodies, but they charged on mindless of their wounds, urged onwards by the chanting fae.

Voldemort watched from the woods, twirling his wand in his hand as he observed the battle. Hyrne paced beside him, his glamours shimmering and twisting around him. There was too much of the wild thing beneath the sophisticated shell and dapper morning suit for Voldemort's liking. Even the edges of the grey top hat reminded him too strikingly of curving antlers when he saw them from the corner of his eye.

'You seem impatient. Perhaps the time has come for you to engage _personally_?' Voldemort murmured.

He sent a wisp of wind to part the veil of snow for him as he tracked the battle on the walls. The black clad warriors of the Brotherhood were holding the line even where others fell back. Their swords shone with flames as they danced backwards and forwards over the broad walls. He watched as one ducked a blade moments before the blow fell, lunged and hurled his assailant onto a second attacker, toppling them from the walls. The Brother spun, sidestepping a blow from behind, without even looking, before dispatching his opponent with a casual swipe. A singing was rising from the walls, Voldemort realised, almost drowned out by the howling wind the defenders had lifted their voices in a battle hymn.

'What was that?' Hyrne asked, whirling on him, fingers clenching and unclenching around his cane. Black talons slid in and out of view on the fairy's hands.

'Your soldiers seem to be struggling to take the walls,' Voldemort said as he pulled a piece of bread from a pocket. He fished out a pot of jam and a small pat of butter from another. 'Would you care for any?' He offered, 'I picked it up along the way. The owners seemed unlikely to need it any longer.'

'Why?'

'Well, they were dead,' Voldemort said spreading the butter onto the bread.

'No, why are they struggling? These are mere humans; we are the daoine sídhe! How could they hold them?'

'Humans fighting for their homes, I have been told that that sort of thing inspires people,' he paused, watching one of the pale lords engage with a black brother. The fairy was quick and whippet thin. Its blond hair flowed out behind it as it struck. Steel clashed against ensorcelled-bronze and blue fire rippled between the blades. The black brother retreated before a flurry of blows. As the fairy gained the upper hand the brother twisted, catching a blow almost before it had begun, pinning the fairy's bronze sword to the rampart and driving a short dagger into its throat. 'That and I'm almost certain some of them have precognitive abilities,' Voldemort added. 'You know, this really is very good. You ought to try some. I have not had raspberry jam in months. The bread is still quite fresh too.'

'They cannot last forever. If needs must I will send the slain against them. I will call the spirits of the earth, wind and water to my aid! This town shall be no more than a memory, a warning to those who oppose us. I say "us", Tom, for I see our fates as inextricably bound,' Hyrne said.

'No doubt they are,' Voldemort said. 'Till death do us part,' he sneered.

'When this slum has fallen we shall build you a castle, nay, a palace, upon its ruins. One that would make emperors weep!' Hyrne's eyes blazed as he looked at Voldemort. 'My dear fellow, we shall rule together, you and I. Too long have I let this infestation grow. But under our watchful gaze may not even vermin come to be of worth?'

'Indeed,' Voldemort said with a thin smile. 'Perhaps you should remind them why they fear you though. Lead the assault, bring them to heel. _Hunt_ them down, as they deserve,' he added as Hyrne seemed to hesitate.

'You are right, Tom, my most faithful friend. Let us go! The walls will soon fall before us,' Hyrne shook his head. 'You make everything so clear.'

'Lead on, I shall be right behind you,' Voldemort promised, stowing the jam and butter away again as he finished the slice of bread. A wolfish smile crossed his face.

* * *

Voldemort strolled towards the main gate. In the failing light it was almost black, the bodies strewed around it lent it the appearance of a mouth to hell itself. He flicked his wand idly, deflecting an arrow that might have come too close. A wave and the charred husk of a rowan was ripped from the earth. He gestured and it slammed against the gate like a bolt of lightning.

Wood groaned, but held. He cast a lance of white light out towards the gate. Aged spells awoke in the wood and the lance glanced aside. The snow hissed and steamed as the magic scorched it. Voldemort held up a hand and the wind twisted around his fingers before leaping out, wrenching an arrow from the grip of an archer on the wall with a thought. He looked up for a moment and struck. The arrow spun on itself and buried the iron head between the archer's eyes.

He spared a glance for Hyrne. The fairy was rallying a mob of men and lurching creatures for a charge. Not yet, there would come a time when Hyrne was alone, weakened and vulnerable. He would strike, but not yet.

A javelin crashed into his chest and he staggered backwards, pulled back into the moment. The weapon bounced away from the enchanted robe, he gasped, grimacing. He touched his chest gingerly and winced, the blow was sure to leave a bruise. A jab of his wand and the javelin broke into splinters which flew back towards the defenders in an angry, humming swarm. He struck the gate again. Green fire clashed with white before subsiding.

Voldemort scowled and with a flick of his wrist the broken lump of the rowan rose into the air again. A snap of his fingers and the wood broke in two. One half floated to him, slicing itself into thick disks which wove backwards and forth in front of him in a shifting pattern. The other half latched onto the gates. Voldemort closed his eyes. He breathed out, concentrating, reminding the wood of when it was alive. Magic bubbled through the charred and broken stump. Tendrils of fresh wood, glowing with dull red flames, stretched outwards. They wormed into the wood of the gate. Around him the world faded away.

He could feel the wood, it was part of him. The cracked and burnt bark, the small core of as yet untouched wood. His fingers were the stretching roots. He locked them around the tiny fissures in the wood, the gaps beside the stones and dug in. The wood was old and tough, but it began to creak. Fire licked up his fingers from the smouldering embers of his trunk. He fed it, directing it into the gateway, and heaved.

His eyes snapped open as the gate erupted in an explosion of splinters and flames. Men and women screamed in pain from somewhere. He stood, rooted to the spot, trying to recall himself. The world seemed less real than it had. He looked down gradually, he had feet. He had forgotten that. They could move, couldn't they? Slowly he came back to himself and started forward. The shields of rowan dropped to the ground, forgotten, behind him.

Smoke, ashes and snow billowed through the gateway. They parted as he strode forwards. Here and there warriors lay bleeding, gasping, and pleading for mercy. One of the black brothers was amongst them. Voldemort paused for a second and finished him off before picking up the man's sword. It was heavy, a brutal sensible piece of steel, notches scored its length. He tapped his wand against it and the edges glimmered, notches smoothing away as the blade became as sharp as a honed razor. He tapped it again, a modified featherweight charm, the blade would crash home with as much force, but now it weighed almost nothing in his hand.

He stepped out from under the gate's archway. A blade hacked down at him, glancing off the sleeve of his robe. He hissed in pain at the dull ache the sword left and spun. His own sword sliced upwards, cutting through his attacker's wrist and a whispered spell ended the man's life. There was a footstep behind him. He spun on his heel, wand rising. A young man and woman stood behind him poised in between flight and fight. A spear trembled in the man's hand.

'Go Boy, get back to the market, they'll have put up barricades,' the woman said, drawing a long dirk as she watched Voldemort.

'I can't leave you, Slipper,' the Boy said, gripping the spear.

Howls arose from outside as more of the horde poured towards the gateway. Voldemort rolled his eyes and flicked his wand. The pair were hurled backwards, their weapons wrenched from their hands. They skidded over the street and slammed into the wall of a building. A casual wave of his hand and the building's wall was wrenched outwards, collapsing over them. If they were lucky they might have survived, but they were trapped. Voldemort strode onwards, down into the down, his robe sweeping out behind him as he moved.

A handful of black clad warriors barred his passage as he marched down the main street. He could see families fleeing behind them. They held their swords before them in salute. Voldemort bowed mocking and flung out a curse. A warrior raised his blade and the spell died away with the sound of a ringing gong. The brothers spread out, levelling their blades towards him. He flicked his wand and the ground rippled, but they were ready and barely paused. He hissed and the glass in the surrounding lamps shattered and rained down upon the brothers. One cried out in pain, but the others were spared by their thick coats.

One of them lunged at him and Voldemort parried. Even with the enchanted sword his cut was clumsy, barely blocking the attack. Blows were exchanged with lightning speed. Voldemort leapt back, gaining a breathing space and struck, the flash of a killing curse lit the street. A brother raised his blade to block the spell, but the sword shattered under the impact. Tiny slivers of steel buried into his hands and face and he screamed in pain. The others leapt forwards, blades dancing.

Voldemort raised his hand and the flames leapt from the lamps around them. The brothers were good, but they could not dodge the inferno which descended. The flames fell on them like living creatures and as they struggled Voldemort struck. His blade danced in and out, punching through leathers as their swords turned on them under his command, slitting their throats.

He marched onwards, further into the town, letting their corpses collapse behind him. An old man with one brilliant blue eye stood in the centre of the street. He carried a spear in one hand. His white beard curled over his chest and a shapeless hat sat on his head. 'Step aside old man,' Voldemort said. 'I have other business to attend to. I would prefer you to live.'

He shook his head, 'No.'

'Stay your hand,' a voice said from behind him.

Voldemort half turned, his eyebrows rose. 'Do I know you?'

There was a woman, flanked by two men. She was tall with green eyes and dark chestnut hair tied back. In one hand she carried a long blade covered in runes. Green light flickered along the swords edge and blood dripped from its point.

'We met once. Are you with them?' She asked.

'Nominally,' he shrugged. 'I think though that you'll want to take me to whoever is in charge.'

'That would be me,' the woman said, 'Pilgrim.'

'Oh, you must be Heather,' he said, a smile curving over his features. 'My, my, you have changed. I did tell him not to trust you. How is the boy, dead yet?'

'I couldn't say.' The earth shook. Tiles tumbled from the roofs. 'Come, surrender to us.' Some little way away something roared.

Voldemort tilted his head, considering, and then the slaugh came round the corner.

* * *

The air cracked as Harry and Malvine appeared. They coughed and staggered, stumbling to the edge of the street. 'Where are we?' Malvine said after she had managed to regain her feet.

Snow was falling around them and mixed with it were great grey flakes of ash. Harry looked around. Now that the world had stopped spinning he could hear the clash of steel and the screams and cries of the dying. 'I _think_ it is Trewalder, I was thrown off a little. There's magic overflowing here at the moment. I'm frankly amazed I managed to get us here at all. Draw your sword, something is wrong here.'

He set off at a slow run, wand drawn. They came to a space between the houses and the town wall. The wall beside them shook under a tremendous blow and the earth trembled with it. Upon the ramparts swarmed dark, hunchbacked creatures, ripping and tearing at fallen bodies. Harry cursed as the creatures looked up, noticing them. 'Run!'

They turned a corner and came face to face with a group of men coming out of a house, blades and beards dripping with blood. A monstrous beast with the body of a gorilla and a head like a crocodiles came with them, trailing like a dog. A babe was gripped in its jaws, it was still twisting, impaled on the ragged teeth.

There was a pause as they stood looking at Harry and Malvine. The beast growled and the spell was broken. Malvine moved with steady efficiency. To Harry's eyes it seemed that she had lightly pushed the first man who came at her, but he staggered backwards. Blood bubbled between his teeth and he collapsed. She struck the beast a blow and its head snapped backwards, neck snapping with a crack. The other men looked at her and screamed in fright as she opened her mouth and roared. The noise was terrible. Even standing behind her Harry raised his hands to his ears as he was forced to his knees. Tears welled in his eyes. When the roar finished the men had fled. Head ringing Harry staggered up to his feet.

'Let's go,' Malvine said.

They ran through the streets. Dark shapes swooped down at them, but Harry threw nets of golden light into the air, catching between the buildings. The slaugh stuck caught on them withered before bursting into flames. As they turned a corner Harry's feet slowed, a soft humming filled the street. Halfway down the street a group of soldiers were kneeling before a thing like pale woman. 'Leanan sidhe,' Malvine hissed, pulling Harry away.

The thing's face flicked upwards and for a moment Harry felt drawn to her dark eyes before Malvine whisked him around the corner and into a melee. Walking slaugh filled the junction. A woman with a blazing green blade was slicing through them, a lithe man wearing a queer old fashioned coat fought on the other a blade flashed in his hand like quicksilver.

'One-Eye!' Harry shouted in greeting as he slashed his wand at one of the slaugh. Its forepaws disintegrated, melting into ash before the curse spread, dissolving the creature.

'Wizard,' One-Eye grunted, ramming his spear down a monster's gullet before ripping it free.

The fight was a blur. Before long the street ran with thick blood and the stinking carcasses of the slaugh lay everywhere. 'Thank you for your help,' Heather said.

Harry was about to nod when familiar voice said, 'I wouldn't thank me too soon. I haven't decided whether I mean to kill you too yet.' Voldemort turned around and blinked as he noticed Harry.

'Tom.'

'Harry,' Voldemort paused for a moment. 'Would you mind helping me kill a god?'


	15. Chapter 15

'A god? An actual deity?' Harry asked.

'Well no,' Tom admitted, 'not really, but you must admit it sounded good.'

They were leaning against the barricades now. In the shocked silence which had followed Tom's pronouncement Heather had dragged them back, down through the town to the market place where the defenders were gathering behind thick defences. The old and the young were packed and huddled in the centre around a smouldering bonfire. Someone had set up an emergency hospital in one of the houses around the square. The townsfolk were quiet, speaking in whispers when they spoke at all. The few fae who had reached the centre had been driven back with few losses, but occasionally there were cries from somewhere out in the streets beyond as the horde swept the town clear.

'Then why did you say it?'

'I required your attention. Anyway, for the purposes of killing him he might as well be,' Tom said. 'Who is the woman with you?'

Malvine stood on top of the barricade, sword planted into the wood between her bare feet. Her rich-blue flapped around her, almost like a pair of wings. The other defenders seemed to go out of their way to avoid approaching her, all save One-Eye who sat next to her on the wall of tables, chairs and brik-a-brak.

'A friend I picked up along the way,' Harry said. 'Who is this "god" then?'

'The reason we parted ways. He captured me. I gained his trust, and I meant to lead him into a battle, observe him and kill him, but then you arrived.'

'Tom, you disappeared ages ago. You couldn't just have poisoned him?' Harry asked.

Tom shifted irritability. 'I wished to ensure that when I struck he would die. He had hidden his life away.'

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose trying to stem the oncoming headache. 'Naturally. A horcrux of some kind? Can't you ever do anything simply? I assume you started this mess to see him fight then?'

'I may have had a hand in it. I really do not understand why you're so worked up about this,' Tom grossed. 'If you aren't going to help then I ought to get back out there. I want at least a small demonstration of his powers.' He stood, stretching.

'They are coming,' Malvine called from above them.

Harry waved his wand and the wood of the barricade shifted, forming a stair for him. He dashed to the makeshift parapet, Tom strolled after him.

Down the main street they came. At their head came Hyrne, veiled in glamours as a tall man of aristocratic bearing, dressed in a neat grey suit, his cane clacked on the cobbles. Those who came beside him wore no glamours. Some were almost human, but Harry's eyes watered when he looked at others.

Hyrne stopped, raising his hand. The fae host halted. Hyrne stopped and regarded the barricade and its defenders coolly. 'Surrender and I will give you a quick death.'

'Does that ever work?' Harry wondered aloud.

Tom stepped up onto the rampart and looked over. Hyrne started at the sight of him, trembling as if struck. The blood drained from the fairy's face leaving him as pale as the snow on the street around him.

'Wait. Give me that man and I will spare your young,' Hyrne said, pointing his cane to Tom. The cane shook in his hand and he took half a step forwards.

Tom stepped in as the others hesitated. 'I beg your pardon, but they refuse to release me. I fear they will kill me,' he apologised.

Harry kicked Tom's shin, earning him an aggrieved look, before turning back to Hyrne. 'Not quite …'

Hyrne's lips curled in a snarl, 'I swear, Tom, if they slay you I will make you a shroud from their children's' pelts. I will leave them bound to this place so that their screams will echo hear for a thousand years hence! I will make them eat their own living flesh. They will know nothing but suffering …'

'Sorry, I really have to interrupt,' Harry interrupted. 'That could all happen, but we only refuse to release him if you do not withdraw from the town immediately. We will meet with you for talks tomorrow.'

Hyrne turned his gaze on Harry, 'I will remember you. Very well. Noon tomorrow, before the town. Tom, hold firm, I shall bring you home.'

Tom nodded, watching as Hyrne spun on his heel and strode through the horde. The fae bared their the defenders and licked their lips with long red tongues, before creeping after their lord. The dead twisted on the ground before lurching to their feet, shambling after the rest of the host. Soon the snow would cover the last signs of the battle.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. 'Right, you need to tell me exactly how valuable you are to him,' he said to Tom before turning to one of the townsmen who had been watching the exchange, 'You, go and fetch whoever's in charge.'

'Who put you in charge?' The man asked.

Harry glanced at him, 'Silencio.' The man opened his mouth, but whatever he had intended to say, no sound came out. The man's eyes went wide and a dark patch spread over his breeches. 'Yes,' Harry said, 'yes, I'm a sorcerer. A wizard. One of the bloody wise. Now go and get whoever is in charge. Argue again and I may forget how to break the charm were I to use it again. Nod if you understand.'

The man jerked his head. 'Good,' Harry waved a hand. 'It will break when you're out of my sight. Quickly now.'

Tom regarded Harry. 'You do not seem yourself. Are you quite well?'

Harry nodded brusquely, 'Yes, but I have no time to suffer fools. Tom, this is serious. I met Death, and forgive me if I'm being paranoid, but I can't help but think something significant is going to happen here.'

Tom paled, turning away so that Harry could not see his face. 'Death? That sounds rather unlikely, I assume you mean you nearly died.'

'No. I met the anthropomorphic personification of Death, you know, the Grim Reaper.'

'That still sounds like sarcasm.'

'Just trust me on this, please. I somehow ended up with the bloody Resurrection Stone!' Harry said, pulling the black pebble out of his pocket, holding it on the palm of his hand. It bore a triangle surrounding a circle, divided by a vertical line. Tom flinched as he noted the mirroring scars on Harry's hand.

'A maudlin piece of junk, if it ever existed,' Tom said, but he drew back despite himself. 'So you have a stone with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. Why do you think it is even the real thing? I trust you haven't used it. It seems almost designed to ensnare you, of all people.'

Harry shook his head. 'I know the legend, I'm not stupid.' He looked up as a small group came towards him, led by Heather and the man had sent off to find his superiors. 'Stay here, and keep out of trouble. I'll be back soon. Malvine, do you want to come?'

She nodded, leaping down from the top of the barricade to join him. They walked away, joining the group. Tom stood staring after them for a little while before he looked down at the wand in his hand. Cut into the grip, almost worn away by many hands lay a familiar sign: a triangle surrounding a perfect circle, divided by a thin line. He shivered and slipped the wand inside his robes before levitating over the barricade and strolling down the street to watch the townsfolk as they tried to shore up the gate and repair the defences.

'We have thirty-six wounded amongst the Brotherhood; one-hundred and two of the townsfolk are wounded; around a hundred and eighty of the Brotherhood are missing, presumed dead; we have no idea how many of our own people are dead or taken; I would not be surprised if it were close to a thousand. Our stores of food are uncertain. I have sent parties to recover anything they can, but some may already have been tainted by the enemy,' the head of the council, a woman with long, braided white hair, said.

'We had better store anything from an unlocked house separately,' Heather said, 'the last thing we need is outbreak of madness, or the dancing sickness.'

'It isn't going to matter to last long enough to matter,' Harry pointed out. 'They have no reason to besiege us. If they had they would not have continued to assault your town unless they had no care for their losses. They must have lost four times your number, but they showed no sign of breaking. They've retreated for now, but they have taken the dead with them, and you can bet that they'll be in the front line of any new attack.'

'Then we must flee,' one of the council members said. 'At least we must send the children and elderly across the river, they could take the boats.'

'In this weather?' Malvine asked. 'Your kind would freeze to death, starve or worse. Better to let them die with honour. Give them the weapons of the fallen and let them stand upon the walls.'

'You must be mad,' a councilman said, looking at her aghast. Malvine almost caught his eye before Harry caught her hand, breaking her concentration.

'Please,' Harry said, Malvine ground her teeth and relented turning her gaze away from the man. 'She's right,' Harry continued, 'they would die if you did that.'

'We could try to bargain with them, a tribute of some kind,' a council member suggested.

Heather's dagger slammed into the table around which they sat. 'No. No more bargains. I was sold to their lord by my father when I was small. I had seen them persuade my mother that she wanted nothing more than to eat stones, she chewed them till her teeth cracked and her mouth bled, she chewed them till my father chocked her to death. He sold me to them to save the rest of my family. When I escaped, many, many years later, I could think of nothing else but killing my own kin. Only the fact that they'd died of the plague a week after I was taken stopped me.

'If you sell them your children to save your own hides you will only have bought yourselves a fate worse than death.' She stopped breathing hard. Small white dots rose on her flushed cheeks. The council watched her in silence, eyes flicking towards one another nervously.

'So what do you suggest, Mother?' Argenta, who sat at one end of the room, said.

'Fight them. Kill them. We gather every town, village and city of men and we purge them from the earth. If we die at least we'll take some of them with us,' Heather said, plucking her dagger from the table. With a wave of her hand the gouge in the wood sealed over itself.

'We can't fight them …'

'And we shouldn't aim to commit genocide,' Harry added, folding his arms.

'I meant to say that we can't fight them fairly,' one of the councillors said. 'There aren't enough of us. We can't take to the field.'

'Then we cheat,' Harry said, 'but only here, only now. This doesn't spread, this ends when this town is safe.'

'When will we be safe, Traveller, or should I call you Harry?' Heather asked. 'How can we be safe until they're all dead?'

'If that were the only solution then you might as well kill every human too. We all have the potential to kill, even if we choose not to. A great man once said that we had the choice between what is right and what is easy, let's not decide that killing is right.'

'Look, isn't all of this a bit beside the point?' the elderly councilwoman asked. 'What do they even want? Why are they here?'

Heather shifted uneasily. 'I made a bargain with a temporary ally. A lady of … of old fame, to draw this lord out. He came to kill us all. I had to force the issue.'

'Why?' Argenta asked. 'What did you bargain?'

'She walked in my skin for a day and felt age and weariness,' Heather muttered. 'As for why, I think we've already covered that.'

'But why here?'

'There was a prophecy. He can only be slain under particular circumstances. I could most easily arrange for those conditions to be possible here.'

For a moment it looked as if one of the town council wanted to strike Heather, and Harry wondered whether he would do anything to stop them. The question was moot though as the others calmed them and silence settled over the table.

'Well then, I suppose we must wait to see what this fairy lord,' Harry said, pausing as the others flinched, 'wants. Who will go with me to meet him tomorrow?'

'Who are you, any of you three to speak for us?' A woman asked.

Harry cast a weary gaze at her, but Malvine answered for him. 'We are folk with the strength and power you need,' Malvine said. 'You need us.' The woman tried to rise, blood rushing to her face, but Malvine leaned forwards and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, pushing her back into her seat. 'Do not bother to stand.'

Slipper groaned as someone shifted the rubble. She blinked in the torchlight. A hand reached down and felt for a pulse. 'This one's alive!'

They dragged her out of the rubble slowly, prying her hands away from the Boy. He had been taller than her and the falling rubble had struck him first, but his misfortune had saved her. She sat looking at him once they had realised they could not take her away from him. She had not even known his true name to say farewell to him. She pressed her hands against his chest, unable to draw herself away.

Eventually they came back for him, they were burning the dead. They said, though she could scarcely believe it, that the dead had risen and joined the fae host. They wondered out loud, as they took him from her, if they Boy had been spared because he had been buried. Slipper knew the truth, when the dead had passed he had still been alive. If they had only been faster he might have lived. If she had only been able to move, to unearth them. It was too much.

She looked around after they had taken him from her, gradually recognising the cold as it bit into her knees. She heaved herself to her feet and staggered as her blood pressure changed. Then she saw him. Standing by the gate in a neat black robe stood the man who had broken the gate and killed the Boy. She stood, staring, unable to believe her eyes. She rubbed them, but he was still there. She drew the flick-knife from a pocket and opened it. How far was it? Six, seven steps perhaps. She tip-toed, not daring to breath. Three steps and she could strike. He shifted and her heart almost stopped in her chest. Then she was there and in one smooth motion she stepped up onto her tip-toes and drove the knife into his neck, dragging it across his jugular and wind-pipe. He stood still for a moment, almost absentmindedly raised a hand to his throat as the blood burst outwards, choked and collapsed.

Voldemort awoke. His eyes flashed open. His throat was raw. The taste of blood was thick in his mouth and his cheek lay against the snow. He pushed himself up to his knees and looked around. He did not think much time had passed, but he suspected it could not have been long. He rubbed his throat. The skin was soft and tender, although his fingers came away sticky, with a little dried blood upon them he was whole. He tried to speak, but his throat rasped and blood clogged his mouth, clinging to his tongue. He checked himself for any other stab wounds and carefully patted the thin leather wallet with the steel envelope he had made for the playing card. It was there still there, tucked safely away. He began to smile, grimaced as the motion pulled on his throat muscles and smiled anyway.

Who had stabbed him, he wondered? He turned around looking for traces in the snow. There was nothing. Footprints criss-crossed one another. There was no way to pick out anything in the slush and mud. He shrugged to himself, there would come a sign, he would have revenge. He waved his hand and the ice and mud fell away from his robe, before it dried out. He must have looked terrible, he realised as a townsman, carrying wood and a hammer towards the gate stumbled backwards as the torchlight lit Voldemort's face. Voldemort's smile broadened.

The clouds hung low over the fields, almost touching the tops of the trees when Harry walked out of the broken gates. Midday was as dull as dusk and the ground was a torn mass of brown mud and hardened snow. Heather, Malvine, Argenta, and two others from the counsel walked beside him, although the town counsellors were in the lead. They trudged across the broken earth to the ragged black canopy which had been hung between the burnt husks of the rowan trees.

The fairy, Hyrne as Tom had called him to Harry, sat waiting on a tall black throne. He was dressed in a neat old fashioned suit, to Harry's eyes, though he thought that by the standards of the others it must have seemed strange. There was something feline about the fairy's delicate features and cold black eyes. A group of courtiers surrounded him, for a moment Harry thought they wore masks, some with porcelain-esque skin, decorated with golden filigree, others with curved bird-like features, but a second glance suggested that they were no masks. There was another, standing a little way from the others, a guard, Harry assumed. He carried a vast sword of black metal and was robed in red velvet. Their head was bowed though and Harry could not get a closer look.

'Welcome,' Hyrne said, waving a hand towards the cushions which lay scattered over the ground, 'sit.'

'Thank you,' the head of the envoys said, casting around before taking a seat on a cushion. Malvine stepped to one side, refusing to sit.

'Allow me,' Harry said as Argenta eyed the cushions, shifting her walking stick around. He waved a hand and broken parts of the rowans arose around them and shifted together into a throne of sorts. A second wave and it smoothed itself and straightened. Hyrne's eyes flicked towards Harry, but he said nothing.

'Thank you,' Argenta said to Harry, who positioned himself at her left hand, standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Heather glanced at him, nostrils flaring for a moment before she mirrored him, standing by her daughter's shoulder.

The other counsellor hesitated for a moment and then copied his fellow, sitting by Argenta's feet.

'So, your lordship,' Argenta said, 'what will it take for you to leave?'

'I will not leave. You will give me my friend and surrender to my will.'

'We cannot do that,' Argenta said, placing both her hands upon the head of her gnarled white stick. 'We will return your friend if you swear to leave us in peace forever.'

'It is not enough. I will not back down.'

'Then we are at an impasse,' she said and moved as if to leave.

'But …' one of the counsellors started, only to fall silent at a look from Argenta.

Hyrne held up a hand to halt her, 'Wait. Think on this, if we wait you will starve, my forces surround this burgh, settlement, town, whatever you wish to call it. My fingers are already upon your throat.'

'If we starve your friend will starve with us.'

'If he dies I will put you all to a death beyond suffering,' Hyrne said. 'You dare not kill him for fear of my wrath.'

'Tell me, your kind are known for your power games. How will your brethren take it when they hear you were forced to a stalemate by one human town?' Argenta asked sweetly, settling back down.

Hyrne's face hardened. 'Then you would leave me only the option of sacrificing my friend and putting you to the sword? Imagine how much worse it might be for me, if I were to allow you to win? You have argued for your own extinction.'

Argenta's shoulders slumped, but she rallied. 'Well then, you require some form of surrender then? A ceremony, with oaths that we shall not be harmed, could be arranged.'

Heather shifted, her hand closing on the hilt of her dagger. The courtiers froze and slowly turned their motionless faces towards her. Long thin hands slid out of the robes' sleeves. A breathless silence fell. Then Heather's hand left the dagger. Hyrne smiled.

'I think not, it would be too obvious. How about we even the odds? You will not accept a unilateral surrender, but you cannot win. I cannot accept anything less than complete victory, but I cannot win without losing my friend. Therefore I suggest we give you an opportunity to win, and give me a chance for a true triumph,' Hyrne said, gesturing grandly and around him the air shimmered.

'What do you suggest?' Argenta asked.

'A duel. A single champion from each army shall meet on the morrow.'

'To the death?'

'Naturally.'

'Who would your champion be?'

'Why, I would represent myself.'

'Would you give us a few minutes to confer?'

'By all means. Consider though, you will have no better chance to survive.'

Argenta nodded and stood, leading the group a little way from the pavilion. Harry made a few passes, guarding against eavesdropping, and turned his attention to the elderly lady.

'So, this is, I think, our best chance,' Argenta said, 'but who should our champion be?'

'I will do it,' Heather said. He face was grim and her hand was once more on the hilt of her dirk.

'Mother, you are too rash. You would do anything to kill him. Anyone could see that. He would have no trouble taking advantage of your rage,' Argenta said. 'We cannot risk the fate of thousands upon your temper.'

'I would …'

Argenta turned on her mother, glowering, 'Mother, you brought this down on us. I do not trust you.' She turned to Malvine, 'Lady, there is a power about you. Would you take this upon yourself for us? We could offer you all the wealth of the town.'

'I may not,' Malvine said. 'My people are bound by ancient oaths not to shed the blood of the lords of the Hills, unless they strike against one of ours. He has broken no such oath, and unless he were to I cannot act.'

'Argenta,' Harry murmured, 'you read my fortune once. You said I could choose to make a stand. I think this was meant to be my fight.'

'Are you certain? Your lady companion has strength such as I have never seen before, but no-one has slain a lord of the Sidhe in living memory,' Argenta said.

'I have seen his power, Daughter,' Heather said, 'and his spirit has only blossomed since then. He may be our best chance, if you will not allow me to fight and the lady will not.'

'If I remember the runes correctly, then if I don't make a stand now this will become everyone's fight. Best to walk out to meet your fate, rather than being dragged to face it. I am your best hope.'

She nodded, exhausted. 'You're a good man.'

'I will set to work on weapons and armour for you,' Heather said. 'Let's get this sorted.'

Harry turned back towards the fairies and dropped the privacy charms. 'I accept your challenge,' he said.


	16. Chapter 16

Night lay on Trewalder. The town was divided within itself. Some wept; some comforted, and some revelled, singing, dancing and giving in to every repressed desire, seizing life whilst they still could. Yet, no matter which group one wandered amongst there was an unspoken tension and beneath it the stale stink of human fear. Malvine, unable to stand it or the crowds any longer, had climbed onto the roof of a house. Now, invisible from the street below, she stood beside the chimney stack and looked out over the town, and the river and meadows beyond. She sniffed as she looked down at the humans, shuddered and turned her gaze upwards to the stars.

'It is a beautiful night,' said a voice beside her.

Malvine inclined her head respectfully. 'Good evening, lord. What brings you here tonight?'

Death gave a thin lipped smile. 'My usual business.'

'You are here for the duel?'

'If one dies I must be there, and the aftermath.'

'Can Harry win?' Malvine asked.

'Yes.'

'Just yes?'

'I make no promises. I could not honour them.'

'Honour … I owe him a debt, you realise?'

'That is not my concern. A child dies below us. I am here for her. The time is almost here.'

'Good night, lord,' Malvine said. She turned away and he was gone. She stepped to the edge of the roof and leapt.

* * *

There was a knock at the door. Harry sewed the last rune onto his shirt, imbuing it with power before he looked up. 'Enter. Sorry about this,' he said, shrugging it on as he beckoned Malvine into the room. 'What can I do for you?'

'I fear betrayal tomorrow. It is unlikely the sidhe host will leave you alive if you kill their lord. They will be a headless snake, but their death throes may be enough.'

'I'll meet them as they come.'

'I will be your second. Enchant me, hide me so I may be close enough to guard you when they come,' she said.

'I don't know if I could cast a spell a fairy couldn't see through,' Harry admitted. 'If what Tom says is true …' He rubbed his brow.

'Harry, you want to defend these mortals?'

He nodded.

'Then let us be of one blood.'

'What do you mean?'

'Let us mix our blood. We have fought together. You saw my Mother leave this world,' she held out her wrist and ran a nail over it. A thin line of blood welled up. 'If we do this you may trust me as your own kin. You will be of my blood and I will take up your fight, if you fall.'

'Why?'

'Honour.'

Harry hesitated and gave a short nod. He ran his wand tip over his forearm, splitting the skin open. Malvine took his arm in her hand and pressed her wrist against his. 'One blood. One kind. Now I owe you protection, as you owe it to me. I will kill the hill-king, if need be. Now will you enchant me?'

Harry ran his hands through his hair. 'Yes, fine. I have no enchantments which could do it for sure, but if you take my cloak you'll be unseen. I won't have much need for it in this fight anyway.' He rummaged around for a moment and then passed her the silvery invisibility cloak. 'Now please, I need time to myself.'

She left, shutting the door. He pulled the Resurrection Stone from his pocket and turned it over in his hand, watching the solitary, circular scar on his palm. He turned the stone over in his hand again.

* * *

Before dawn Heather came to him, with Tom and Malvine. Tom's usual sneer was absent and he fidgeted as Heather laid out a set of leather armour, and a helmet wrought in steel and gold with garnets on the brows above the face mask.

'I have bespelled these as best I can. They should hold faster than steel till sunset. The helmet will allow you to see through any glamours he throws at you,' Heather said. She pulled a set of small glass beads from a pouch and laid them down beside the armour. 'These are bound with curses and spells. Scatter them or throw them, explosions, fire, concealment, and a few other things of that nature, are bound in them. This,' she added, placing a long dagger in its sheath on top of the rest, 'is named Fragarach. It was forged before the dark days. No amour may stop it, and flesh will melt before it.'

'Have you thought of a name for the sword?' Malvine asked as she offered him her blade and began to help him buckle on the armour.

'No,' Harry murmured. 'I think you might do that, once this is over. Thank you, Heather, I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you.'

'Just kill him. That will be enough.'

'Would you both step outside?' Tom asked. 'I have a few words to say to him.'

Harry nodded and they left, shutting the door behind them. 'I'll be with you soon, Malvine,' he said.

'Harry,' Tom said, 'try not to die today.'

There was a pause. 'I'll do my best.'

'You do not have to do this. We could leave. I could put aside revenge, for now.'

'I spent some time … thinking things over last night. I think I'll be fine, no matter what happens. There are adventures I haven't had yet, but if it happens that I end up going off on one,' Harry stuck, unable to meet Tom's eye. 'Do the right thing, alright?'

'You'd better come back. I can't promise that.'

'Just try. You've a world to explore. You don't need to rule it. We've crossed worlds before, you can do it again. Just think of all the places to see. The next one will always be beckoning.

'Now, it's almost time. Be good, Tom,' Harry said, and to Tom's surprise the younger man clapped him on the shoulder and strode out of the house.

* * *

The clouds had parted and the sun gilded the snow in fire as Harry walked out of the gates.

'Do you remember my Mother's words before she died?' Malvine asked as the repaired gates were pushed to behind them.

'Not entirely.'

'Will you say them with me now? They are the battle prayer of my kind.'

'I would be proud to.'

'Lo there do I see my father,' she said, Harry repeating her words. 'Lo there do I see my mother and my sisters and my brothers.' The snow crunched under their feet. 'Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning. Lo, they do call me, they bid me take my place among them, where the brave may live forever.'

The fairy waited, halfway between the wood and the town-wall. 'A fine morning, and I pretty speech,' Hyrne said. 'I hope you are ready to die.' He was dressed in scales of bronze, a half helm and a leaf-green tunic. He bore a long spear of green metal in his right-hand and a round shield in his left. His second stood nearby, dressed in a rusty-ochre.

'As ready as ever,' Harry said, lifting the visor. 'This is my second, the Lady Malvine.'

'Charmed,' Hyrne said. 'My second, Dun Mar. Well they've seen us here, so that is their task done. Be gone the pair of you, and we shall begin.'

'Not quite the rules as I know them, but as you wish,' he glanced to Malvine, 'thank you.' He clasped forearms with her and she turned to walk away.

'Any last words?' Hyrne asked.

'If I die, show mercy. Spare the people of this place. They had nothing to do with your enemies.'

'No. I asked for your last words, not meaningless pleas. There are no agreements between wolves and sheep.' The spear cracked down. The air crackled. Harry raised his hand, shielding his eyes. Electricity ran over his armour like water. Hyrne frowned.

Harry began to circle his opponent. A jab of his wand. Red light splashed against Hyrne's shield. 'Clichéd as this sounds, you don't need to do this.'

Hyrne ignored him and bellowed as he thrust his spear forwards. A hail of spears materialised from it. Harry ducked, rolling beneath them, slicing upwards. Hyrne spun away from the bolt.

He whirled his spear above his head, the blade became a blur. Harry shot a couple of curses. Hyrne tossed them aside, the spear's head catching them. The air rippled. The earth erupted in fountains. Harry leapt upwards, form shifting. A falcon swooped between the jagged rocks and landed. Harry crouched, ducking a fireball. He gasped as the air sizzled above him.

Harry flicked his wand up. The snow burst into flames. They closed around Hyrne, the scent of roses filled the air. Hyrne held his spear before him and the flames froze. A grunt and they exploded in shards. Hyrne gave a grudging nod of respect.

Spell followed spell, flying backwards and forwards. The air spat and the snow steamed and melted. Hyrne advanced on Harry, batting spells aside, forcing the wizard to retreat.

Harry bit his lip, drawing his sword as he forced himself to stand still. Blue ice lanced from his wand. Hyrne raised his shield. The blast shattered it and tore it from his grip. There was a crack and his arm hung limp. Harry brought his wand down. Dark motes of dusk filled the air and a wind wailed across the plain. Snow twisted in icy dust devils.

Hyrne raised his good arm against the attack. The black wind battered a flickering shield. The fairy gritted his teeth, as his arm reknit itself. 'This is dark magic you're throwing around, child!'

The air cracked behind him, and Harry stepped out of the ether. The black wind struck him from behind and Hyrne screamed as it tore through him. His shield faltered and fell.

Tom watched from the walls as a dark cloud enveloped Hyrne. The fairy's scream shattered the window panes throughout Trewalder, driving him to his knees. When he staggered to his feet Harry was alone on the field. A twisted lump of flesh lay at his feet. There was silence for a few seconds and then Harry began to walk back towards the walls. Cheers erupted from the spectators.

The cheers died as soon as they had started as Hyrne stood, flesh flowing back over his blacked bones. Claws stretched from his fingers. The spear flew to his hand and he roared a challenge. Harry turned. If he was surprised the steel mask hid it.

Harry swept his wand out. Oily flames flickered from the tip. Hyrne raised a fist and snow smothered the fire. He stepped forwards. Harry parried a thrust of the spear. A crack of his wand, a fiery whip lashed the air. Hyrne lunged again. Harry stumbled backwards. The whip and fire tangled, the shaft smouldering as Hyrne ripped it free.

Harry dropped the sword. He hurled the pouch of beads towards the fairy. Hyrne caught it in mid-air and the pouch exploded. Harry hurtled backwards. Stars swam before his eyes as he rolled over, summoning the sword.

Hyrne was engulfed in ball of fire. Lightning snapped through the cloud. Mist billowed over the ground. Harry swore as his legs almost buckled under him and shot a string of curses into the fog. He whipped his wand around and icy warriors rose from the snow.

Hyrne emerged from the fire. His hair blazed with cinders as it billowed behind him. He charged towards Harry, glamours falling away. Curving antlers swept from his head. The icy golems moved to bar his path, but he smashed them aside. Hooves thundered over the frozen ground. Harry braced. A golden shield rose before him. Hyrne's spear clashed against it and bit through. Harry hurled himself aside. Too late. The spear struck him, hurling him into the air. He flailed, shifting into a falcon. He fluttered, thrown off balance and crashed into a snowdrift.

The spear caught him as he shifted back. Metal and leather screamed as it scored a scratch down his side. Harry lashed out. Hyrne staggered as blue blood blossomed from the curse's blow. Harry caught the spear with his sword, knocking it to the ground. Snow leapt up, pelting the fairy. He strode through it.

A savage stab drove Harry to his knees. He cried out. His arm shook as he raised a shield. He fell. A foot smashed into his face. A strap dug into his neck and snapped. He lurched and the helmet slipped from his head. He could taste iron. Blood filled his mouth. Sweat stung his eyes. He lashed out. Magic flared. Hyrne blocked it, catching his hand. Harry bit the fairy's wrist, tasting copper.

The ground fell away. He was thrown backwards. The spear slammed down into his side, again. It bit through the armour. He screamed, thrashing. Hyrne pulled the spear free. A snarl and the earth surged upwards impaling his wand arm. His wand fell from the nerveless fingers. He sobbed. On the walls someone shouted his name.

The earth rose into a pillar of stone. He dangled, like a puppet, from the rock. Hyrne stabbed him again, driving the spear into the open wound.

'See your champion!' The fairy cried, turning to the walls.

Harry fumbled at his belt with his left hand.

'See how he dies!'

He found the hilt of the dagger, Fragarach.

Hoots and jeers rose from the woods.

He drew it. His hand shook.

There was a hiss of cloth on snow.

He gritted his teeth and slashed down. The blade seared through his flesh and armour. It cauterised the wound. He fell to the ground. The stump hissed in the snow. His vision swam.

Tom watched, helpless as Hyrne began to turn. 'I betrayed you!' His voice rang out over the plain.

The fairy paused. 'What?'

'I laid this trap for you.'

Harry pushed himself to his knees and held out his good hand. ' _Accio_.' The bright sword flew to his hand. He pressed it into the earth, pulling himself up.

'Tom …' Hyrne looked at the walls.

Harry plunged the blade through the fairy's back and into his heart. Hyrne stumbled. He looked down at the bloody blade in surprise. Harry wrenched it free. The fairy coughed. His skin sealed over the wound and then burst open again. He collapsed, face down, into the snow.

Harry staggered a pace and fell.

A howl rose from the woods. There was a rustle of cloth and Malvine threw back the cloak. She picked up Harry's sword and stood over him, facing the oncoming horde.

* * *

Tom swore as the fae poured out of the woods. 'I am going out there. Who's with me?' He leapt over the battlements. His cloak rose around him like wings as he soared over the pitted battleground.

Malvine met the woman who led the charge head on. 'Lo,' she shouted as her sword bit into the furs, 'there do I see my father!' The woman crumpled.

'Lo there do I see my mother!' She slashed another one down. 'And my sisters and my brothers.' Then they were on her. She hacked and cut, yelling out the words. 'Lo there do I see the line of my people, back to the beginning.' Blades flew from their hands. 'Lo, they do call me.' A man fell, his tendon sliced. 'They bid me take my place among them! In the halls of the fallen, where the brave may live,' a thrust and another fell. 'FOREVER!' Parry, grunt, thrust. She slammed a fist into a man. A backhanded cut caught another's throat. Heat rippled from her and they staggered back.

A throwing axe whirled towards her. She caught it. A breath and the metal rippled like water. She hurled the melting metal back into the fray and a beast howled, clawing at the sizzling metal. Bodies piled up around her.

A green light flashed past her and an attacker fell. A man stood beside her, a wand in his hand. Fire and light burnt at the tip, cutting down the enemy and he laughed as he did so. There were no more enemies nearby. She looked around, breathing hard. A thigh-high wall of corpses surrounded her. The townsmen had sallied out and open battle raged. Some of the fae must have fled at their leader's death, for the forces seemed well balanced. Heather was whirling through the fray, blades singing.

'Is he alive?' Malvine asked.

The man bent and touched his hand to Harry's throat. 'Yes, but barely. We need to get him out of here.'

'The town's in chaos,' said a woman with a scarred face. There were six others, around them; men and women dressed in the clothes of caravan guards. 'Folk have taken it into their heads to get revenge on their neighbours. We can't take him in there.'

'The docks then, we can get him onto a boat and across the river,' said a one-eyed man.

'I'll carry him,' Tom said. He bent and lifted Harry into his arms, cradling him.

There was a whooping cry from the woods and Malvine raised her head. 'Go. I will deal with this. I will meet you at the docks.'

Tom looked at her for a moment and then strode away towards the town. The others fanned out, forming a guard around him. Behind them there was the bellow of a huge creature and the hiss and roar of flame.

The streets were filled with men and women running. Smoke billowed from shop windows where fire arrows had struck true. Chains of buckets were being carried up from the river. The townspeople were oblivious to Tom as he carried Harry down towards the watergate.

'Don't you dare die on me,' he whispered. 'All will be well.'

He glanced at the slim girl who shadowed him. She turned pale each time he looked at her. He tore his eyes away, keeping his pace steady. Arrows whizzed through the air overhead. The air thudded under the beat of mighty wings and then in a blur of motion Malvine was by his shoulder, straightening her hair

'This way,' Slipper said, and she pointed to a wicker gate.

Tom pushed though sideways. He flinched as Harry's leg bumped against the wall and the boy groaned. The river lay before them, tugging at the bobbing boats. Rowboats lined the quay. A mist was rising from the banks as the Sun melted the snow and ice.

'Find something to make him comfortable,' he said. He laid Harry down on the cobbles, wincing as he examined the wounds. He waved the Elder Wand, cutting away the leather and exposing the mangled flesh. The scarred woman, tears running down her face, and the one-eyed man bundled something by him and smoothed a mantle over it in the bottom of a narrow rowboat. Tenderly they lifted Harry and set him down on the cloak.

'You can't save him,' Death said. He stood at the head of the boat, a long staff in his hand. 'You sold that power, and it is too late now. Someday I will return to claim you, it is in your nature to die, now that he is mine.'

'Shut up,' Tom growled. He pulled a sliver of leather from the wound in Harry's side.

Harry gasped. His eyes opened, the whites showing around the iris. 'Merlin ...'

'Shush, Harry, be still. You are going to be fine,' Tom promised. ' _Vulnus confervo._ ' The skin shivered and sealed.

'And what about the internal bleeding?' Death asked. 'You are going to have to cut him open again to fix that.'

'Tom,' Harry whispered, 'did I manage?'

'Yes, yes. You did it.'

Harry's eyes closed and his head drooped. 'Good. Stop.'

'Come on Harry. Stay with me.' Tom glared at Death, 'I can still beat you. Malvine, give him the cloak.'

'It is too late for that Tom. My mark is upon him,' Death said.

Tom growled. 'Then I'll go all the way.' He shook Harry's shoulder's gently. 'Harry, I need you to stay awake. Here's your wand, I picked it up. Just disarm me, take my wand. Then you'll be the Master of Death. Remember the legend? I just need you to do this and it'll all be fine.'

Harry shook his head very slightly. 'Not now Tom. Too tired.'

'Malvine, persuade him.'

'Everyone meets the Last Friend in their own way. This is his,' Malvine said. She stepped into the boat and ran her hand over Harry's brow. She wiped away the sweat from the pale forehead and the thin lightning bolt scar. She tucked the cloak of invisibility beneath his head. Death knelt and whispered into Harry's ear. Harry smiled.

There were shouts from the town and Tom stood, stepping onto the quay for a moment. He caught a man who burst through the watergate. 'What's going on?'

'A mob of _them_ are coming! I don't know what they want, but they're coming here.'

Tom threw him aside. 'They are coming for revenge.' He hesitated and turned to Malvine. 'Take him. Do what you can for him.'

'It's okay,' Harry murmured. His left hand gripped Tom's for a moment. 'The others are waiting: my parents, friends, Sirius ...'

'But I'm _here_ ,' Tom said. He turned away, tugging his hand from Harry's. 'I will come for you. If I have to conquer hell itself.'

Harry did not answer. Death untied the boat and pushed it away from the quay with his staff, into the stream. Malvine stood in the prow, sword in hand. Tom cast one last glance at it as it vanished into the mist. Then he turned to face the foe.

**Finis**

_Hic iacet Harrius, magus quondam, magusque futurus_.


End file.
